


Sylvan Throne

by chipperdyke



Series: Sylvan Throne Text and Epilogues [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Magical Pregnancy, Original Character Death(s), POV Hermione Granger, Sexual Violence, Unplanned Pregnancy, Violence, after the war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 88,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6582370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chipperdyke/pseuds/chipperdyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione and her friends begin training as Aurors a year after the defeat of Voldemort, and Hermione meets a woman who will change her life forever.</p><p>Cross-posted with FF.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.
> 
> Rating: Starts at G but rapidly spirals into NC-17 and stays there.
> 
> Warnings: Mature themes and content. No graphic depictions of heterosexual sex, and violence is never sexualized, but there are graphic depictions of death, violence, sex, sexual violence, etc. The nature of consent is a central theme. If any of the above is a trigger for you, please do not read this fic.
> 
> Thanks to my beta, Sashimae, whose guidance and insights are actually without compare.

 

_Sometimes I wonder whether it would have happened differently if she wasn't so beautiful. Ivory skin, a flawless complexion, piercing blue eyes, and thin lips, with a grim look about her, all framed by perfectly black hair. At first I could barely look her in the eyes at all, although I never admitted that to myself. I stole quick glances at her body, at the subtle curve of her hip, the swell of her breast, the blunt fingers and toned arms. It was only later that I was able to steel myself enough to look her in the eye, and what I saw there was more terrifying than intriguing, although not by much._

* * *

Harry mopped his brow, but sweat still dripped off his nose to splatter on the wooden boards below him. He faced a web of knotted ropes, dubiously secure. He blinked his eyes to clear them, grateful for the water-repelling charm on his glasses. He couldn't count the number of times that charm had probably saved his life.

But right now, it wasn't a matter of life and death - only a matter of pass or fail. He gathered his facilities together and dove into the rope maze, his forearms aching as he clung to one rope and then the next. For every rope he had a new curse.

He had almost run out of curses when the ropes parted enough for him to make out a wooden platform similar to the one he'd left behind. Relief made him slide down the rope a few inches, and then he regained his grip and reached for another rope he deemed safe, carefully gripping it with first one hand, and then the other, and finally committing to it with his legs. He heard a snort from below him and steadfastly ignored it, reaching for the platform with one hand, and then elbowing his way onto it.

It was only then that he noticed the leather boots already on the platform, and a sudden rush of adrenaline hastened his roll. He scrambled up, to have the wind knocked out of him by a solid kick to the chest.

His opponent swam into focus, tall and lanky, in his mid-twenties. He had long hair that reminded Harry of Bill's hair, although Harry had never seen Bill's face contorted in such concentration as he attempted to smash somebody's face with his boot.

Harry rolled away again, and as his opponent's foot came down he grabbed it, twisting and pulling it out from under him.

An artificial pop sounded and Harry relaxed.

"That's fine, Mr. Potter," came a voice from below, and Harry got up, sweaty and unexpectedly very grumpy. He jumped off the platform, trusting the Feather Fall charm on the gym's floor to catch his fall.

He bounced off the ground and found his feet. He faced a well-built, very tall and very annoying man who'd boldly kept his given name, Tom. Hermione and Jonah sat on a bench to the side, one looking completely exhausted and the other a little scornful. They had both completed this task before him, and had evidently been allowed to watch him; he now knew where the snort had come from.

Tom spoke with a voice that would have made more sense coming from a pre-pubescent boy. "Your speed completing the other exercises made up for the atrocious performance on the ropes. Congratulations. You've completed the physical section of Auror training."

Harry forced a smile and shook the proffered hand. He turned away quickly, walking to the door. Recognizing Hermione's step behind him, he held the door for her. Jonah stayed behind, probably to speak with Tom about a detail on scoring.

The moment the door closed behind them Hermione turned to him and said, "I wouldn't have stayed to watch but Jonah watched me, too, and I thought if I stayed he wouldn't be so... obnoxious about the ropes. I'm sorry, Harry. Clearly monkey abilities have nothing to do with actually beating Dark Lords."

Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes. "How'd yours go?"

"Alright. I saw my final opponent sooner, but she almost pinned me. Am I ever glad this is over."

They were walking along a long corridor that lead to the mess halls. "D'ya think they'll let us start using our wands again?" Harry said.

"I'm sure they will," Hermione said. "What else could we learn that  _ doesn't  _ involve wands?"

Harry didn't want to think about that, and luckily he was saved from a response by their arrival at the mess hall. It was cavernous, a fact that had led Hermione to observe that presumably there had been more Aurors before the Second Wizarding War. Grasia seemed very lonely now, but Harry could easily imagine the great halls filled with wizarding police. Somehow in his imagination the Aurors were smiling, although he knew precious few Aurors who made smiling a habit. Tonks -

He shook his head to clear it. A year had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, and he and Hermione had been training for most of it. Harry was not fully committed to the career, especially since he knew exactly what he was getting into. But although he had skipped his final year at Hogwarts and had no interest in returning, he wasn't ready to enter a mundane life working at a shop or even at the Ministry. Maybe he could even be helpful, stopping the rise of the next Dark Lord... and at the very least, he was sure he'd get to travel a bit during the compulsory five-year stint after Auror training.

He definitely knew that he couldn't stand by and let innocent people die simply because he was tired of fighting. And really, what else was he good for, anyway?

"What are you thinking about?" Hermione asked, and he realized that he'd been brooding, walking slowly toward the kitchen.

"Just wondering again why I decided to subject myself to such humiliation," he said glibly. "What was your excuse again? Something about the public good and tackling the greatest challenges you can find?"

Hermione shoved his shoulder lightly. "John-Andrew said that we're likely to be paired directly with mentors now that we've proven ourselves physically competent."

"Who's John-Andrew?"

"One of the Aurors I've been speaking to, you know. The memoirs."

"Right," Harry said, feeling guilty for not paying closer attention to Hermione's pet project. He honestly thought it was a waste of time, gathering the perspectives of Aurors active during Voldemort's second rise to power. Plenty of books had already been written. But he supposed Hermione had to occupy her mind somehow.

"He said they will use the Sorting Hat, but I don't believe it. Don't you remember his song in the first year? He said that he sat around gathering dust all year, that sorting the First Years is his only occupation."

"That's obviously not true," Harry pointed out, wrinkling his nose at the paste that was evidently intended for consumption and picking up a few apples instead. He would get real food for dinner, outside.

Hermione gamely heaped a scoop onto her plate and they moved to a nearby table. "But that doesn't make any sense. The Sorting Hat was made to sort students into houses, not to pair people up."

"Who knows? Maybe it got bored one day and decided to use its mind-reading powers to greater effect. Or maybe it wasn't made to sort Hogwarts houses to begin with."

Near the end of their meal, two small slips of paper drifted from the ceiling which read, "Report to the Great Hall at dusk with robes." And so the pair found themselves standing in their black robes before yet another huge wooden building, this one with stained glass windows that reminded Harry of a church. Jonah was already there, and he gave both of them a haughty look before ignoring them.

Finally Hermione shifted, remarking, "Not like them to be late, is it?"

But still they waited, until Harry noticed a woman walking toward them, a brown bag over her shoulder and her black robes looking ratty even in the distance. Her appearance was striking anyway, midnight black hair contrasting sharply with her skin. She moved with confidence, and Harry was suddenly sure that this woman was the reason they'd been kept waiting.

When she finally arrived, she gave them a wordless nod, and as her eyes met Harry's he felt a cold uneasiness settle in his belly. There was something not quite right about her. It wasn't just the distance in her eyes, or the calm collection with which she held herself. She couldn't have been more than a few years older than them, but she felt... different. She creeped him out.

And then the doors opened and everyone but the newcomer jumped a little, eyes straining to see into the relatively well-lit building. Hermione moved first.

* * *

Hermione didn't like being wrong, but there sat the Sorting Hat, self-important and somewhat smug in its decrepit condition. Clearly John-Andrew's memory was not as flawed as she had thought. Assembled around it was a group of about a dozen and a half older Aurors, grumbling and shifting in their seats as they watched her, Harry, Jonah, and the mysterious woman file in.

A young man called Regin beckoned her, and she walked around the chairs to him. He was clearly facilitating, and the older Aurors were giving him resentful looks already. Aurors were not accustomed to being kept waiting.

Regin gave everyone an apologetic look. "Traditionally the Hogwarts Sorting Hat is used to sort Aurors into groups for efficiency purposes, and Headmaster McGonagall has generously allowed us to use it to pair experienced Aurors with those being trained as well. First the hat will familiarize itself with our potential mentors. Then you four will be assigned."

He picked up the hat and gingerly handed it to the first of the assembled Aurors. "Timothy Frome," the man said, sighing and dropping the Hat onto his head. After a moment he nodded and took it off his head, handing it to the man next to him.

Hermione was amused to note that the hat really fit only one of them, a very fat man with a bald head who mumbled "Beabel Noff" as he dropped the hat on his oversized head.

The whole process took about three minutes. The Aurors were clearly impatient. "And now the candidates," Regin said, taking the Hat from the last of them and walking it over to the mysterious dark-haired witch, who said clearly, "Lucy Cunningham."

Hermione remembered the shock she felt as the woman's eyes fell on hers bare minutes before. The Sorting Hat covered Lucy's eyes now, but the tips of her raven-black hair ran seamlessly into her ceremonial black robe, so that it seemed she was all one black pillar, with a tip of ivory skin, luminescent in the witch-light, and the tattered hat perched absurdly on top.

After what seemed an hour, but was probably closer to five minutes, the Sorting Hat croaked, "Deferred." A murmur passed through the Aurors. Lucy - Hermione tripped over the name; it didn't quite fit, somehow - took off the hat, and with a strange, fierce humor that never left her eyes, she passed it to Harry.

Hermione tore her eyes off the witch and just managed to smile encouragingly at Harry before his eyes, too, disappeared. One minute passed, and then two, and Hermione began to wonder with mounting hysteria whether she could handle that much silent waiting under the hat. Then Harry's lips moved, only slightly, like they sometimes did when he slept. This meant to Hermione that the Hat and Harry were communicating, and she relaxed, more comfortable with that idea.

"Mercy Audrey," the Hat announced, and there was some more grumbling and shifting around in seats. Harry took off the Hat and wavered awkwardly, unsuccessfully trying to pick out the person he was assigned to. Regin waved him back, taking the Hat and handing it to Hermione. He was obviously trying to finish as quickly as possible.

Hermione took the hat with shaking hands, wishing Ron was there. Just a glimpse of his carrot head would make her feel more confident, she was sure. "Hermione Granger," she said, squeezing her eyes shut as she put the hat on.

The hat considered for all of ten milliseconds. "Lew Cunningham," it said, with perhaps the most certainty that Hermione had ever heard in its voice.

'That's wrong,' Hermione thought. The strange witch? And how did the Sorting Hat know to use what was obviously a nickname?

"Don't doubt me, dear," the hat said. Hermione removed the hat to blank stares and handed it to Jonah, who eagerly donned it, leaving no time for questions.

He was under the hat for a few minutes, too. "Marco Flores," the hat said finally, and the Aurors stirred again.

Regin took the hat back and stood awkwardly. "Well, I guess this is what we get for going back to the old way." He was obviously out of his element, and did not feel ashamed to show it.

One of the assembled Aurors spoke up. "We can always go back to the usual way," he said.

"Unfortunately not, actually, there's a bit of a complication, you know, the rules..."

Hermione recalled that any Sorting was absolutely final, and realized there was likely some sort of magical contract involved in agreeing to be Sorted. She glanced over at the witch she had been paired with. Lew.

"I mean, I'm sure we can um, chose two of you to help the ladies out on the basics of training..." he drifted off, obviously noting the reluctance on all of their faces. "Or... I'll figure something out. Alright, you're all dismissed, except Flores and Audrey."

There was a pause, then Harry touched her arm, smiled with a mixture of sympathy and excitement, and stepped forward to meet his mentor. Jonah followed, and Lew turned to Regin, asking, "Where should I sleep?" Her voice was surprisingly gruff, and the accent was American.

"Oh, oh, right. Hermione, your room has an extra bed, correct?" Hermione nodded. "Sleep in her cabin for tonight."

Lew turned to Hermione. "Let's quit," she said, nodding with crooked eyebrow at a side door. Hermione followed her, feeling the weight of many eyes on their backs as they escaped.

The rush of air was welcome to her flushed cheeks, and she breathed it in greedily. She opened her eyes to see Lew openly looking at her, and she tore her eyes away from her, glancing around the small rose garden. A church loomed behind Lew. The porous rocks it was constructed of were green with moss, but the gathering dusk turned the green into black.

"So, Hermione Granger. I see your name on the papers every time I pick one up." Her voice was rough, and her eyes narrowed as she spoke. "Must be tough, everyone you meet always thinking they know you better than you know yourself."

Hermione took a few steps and Lew followed her along the path along the side of the clearing. She took in another breath, and then replied, "Well, there are the Muggles. I begin to prefer to meet them - they, at least, treat me like I'm human."

This elicited a subdued grin from Lew. Hermione suddenly remembered her - she'd seen her before - "You used to study in the library here every day last year!"

"I did," Lew confirmed, and after a pause, seemed to realize she should explain. "I took my NEWTS in December. They let me use the library to prepare. I didn't do quite good enough, so I went to Hogwarts for the last half-year and brushed up."

This was familiar territory for Hermione, and she jumped on the new topic. "Did you, by any chance, meet a Ron Weasley there?"

Lew closed her eyes. "Tall, redheaded guy? Yeah, he's Bill's brother, right? I was expecting him to be a bit brighter, but I guess he wasn't so lucky."

A flare of anger rose in Hermione, replacing her excitement. "He's my boyfriend," she informed Lew coldly.

Lew snorted, and with restraint she said, "OK. Well, maybe I was wrong."

The were walking along a dirt pathway aside a row of cabins. It was July, and the grass was mostly green and tiny wildflowers still bloomed, speckles of white against the ground. The valley's surroundings changed every few months - the Aurors called it Moving Day, and Hermione understood that they meant it literally. At this time, Grasia was surrounded by a forest of oak and birch trees.

In the middle of the clearing was a raised dirt mount where Apparation was possible, and somehow at least six pairs of eyes were always on that hill - ten when anyone was standing on it. Aurors were never off duty.

"This one's mine," Hermione turned in at the second-to-last cabin, opening the door and flicking her wand at a lamp. It was a single room, with a boxed-in corner as the "in"-house. One of the beds was immaculately made, with sky-blue sheets and a small stuffed porpoise toy. The other had two bags on it, with clothes and boxers overflowing out of them.

"Sorry, I told him to move these," Hermione muttered, and took the sundry armful and dropped it on her own bed.

"Must have been nice to have your own room, huh?" Lew raised her eyebrows suggestively, and Hermione dropped her eyes, turning away again.

She started stripping off the formal robes, revealing a pink sweater and jeans. She sighed, deciding that a quick confidence might reduce the palpable tension in the room. "Actually, he's been a bear lately. The Council is still deciding whether he'll be let into the training program, and he's worse than a constipated dragonet without a doll."

Lew snorted, the sound jarring. "Of course, he has one, don't he?" Hermione turned to see her taking off her robes too, revealing a white tank top and a brilliantly red scar. A scar that was somehow familiar...

"Your boyfriend?" Lew clarified, looking at her.

"Oh. My. God." Hermione's knees buckled and she sat on her bed. "Are you... when I was thirteen..."

Lew hooked her thumbs on her jeans. "The mysterious American rescuer? I figured you'd get it once you saw my scar."

Hermione kept staring. "Anonymity isn't your privilege," she whispered in shock, trying to connect the streaky bleached, towheaded, overconfident teen of her memory with the somber, pale figure before her. It was a complete transformation, though more believable without the almost iridescent quality the black robes gave her. Hermione wondered if the woman before her had hidden in the brazen youth, or if the youth had only taken on a new guise. They shared only a lean, hardened body and suspicious eyes.

"Sorry, this is just a lot to process," she said.

Lew made a gesture of calming. "Hey, you've got all the time in the world." She looked around, taking the cabin in again, and then said, "Thanks for sharing. I'm gonna go get some air." She dropped her bag.

"Wait," Hermione was focused again. "Before you go - why do you think the Sorting Hat assigned me to you?"

Lew turned from the door. "What, that little glitch? Honestly... I think if you'd put it on first, it would have deferred you, too. The two of us have plenty of experience dealing with the Dark Arts, maybe more than some of those duds we're supposed to be 'assigned' to. I think it's just smarter than the current Council, sees we're all already Aurors."

"What about Harry?"

"I don't know." Lew cocked an eyebrow at her. Hermione waited for her to finish, but she stayed silent.

Finally, Hermione spoke into the silence. "Why weren't you part of the physical training phase? You weren't, were you?"

"I could _teach_ the physical training phase. I skipped it." She turned back toward the door.

"One more thing," said Hermione. Lew turned, unperturbed. "Why didn't you take your NEWTS in America, after 7th year?"

"Didn't like school, myself. Too fucking expensive without socialized schooling or a job... I left when I was fifteen."

Hermione, mind whirring, let her go after that and started packing Ron's bags. Didn't Harry have more Dark Arts experience than she? Was it something else that paired her, rather than Harry, with Lew? What sort of resume did this Lew have, anyway? She couldn't be more than five years older than Hermione, and hadn't been involved in the defeat of Voldemort in any noticeable way. She certainly wasn't at the Battle at Hogwarts. And how could she have gone without instruction for the last two years of schooling, perhaps the most important of all? Hogwarts was free to those who couldn't pay. America had public schools, too... she'd heard that the American Department of Magic had less sway than its English equivalent, but never guessed that extended to schooling. And was Lew's family simply poor, or...

When Lew got back, she was busy paging through her copy of A History of Magic. Professor Binns has skipped over the section on Early Magic in the New World.

The sound of the door opening made her jump. She carefully marked the page she was on and greeted Lew, who grunted and started pulling things out of her bag. After a long silence, Hermione tried again:

"That's a massive scar, there."

Lew stopped and looked at her, icy blue eyes piercing. Hermione's confidence wavered. "It is," Lew replied after a second. "I don't remember when I didn't have it. I got it when I was very small. Chemical burn."

"A misstep?" Hermione asked sympathetically.

"Not a mistake, that much I know," Lew stated, and went back to unpacking.

Hermione decided she'd give her new roommate some space. She walked out, shivering as the cold air hit her. She had no idea where exactly they were, but guessed it was somewhat closer to the equator than London, which was a blessing. The summer nights were warm enough.

She paced the familiar grounds. It was almost last year that she had first come here, and she had rarely left since; the library was extensive, and was connected to the Hogwarts and Ministry of Magic archives. And of course there was Ron, who this summer caught the teapot over at least twice a week. Hermione had to explicitly request that he not come more often. It didn't exactly help his application, and she was exhausted all the time.

She found herself at the library, a great stone structure that was incredibly neat and utterly un-ornate. She drifted among the stacks of books, touching her finger to their spines but not picking up a single one. She stopped at Harry's cabin, but neither he nor Jonah was there, and all their stuff was gone. Hermione was abandoned. Heart heavy but carrying a bit of the library's magic still with her, she opened her cabin's door to find Lew curled under her blankets, already asleep. She undressed quietly and turned out the light.

She pondered the nature of her new roommate, and perhaps her first partner as an Auror. Sometimes quick and brutal, but mostly possessed of a calm that seemed wise without being calculating... Hermione was honestly surprised by her lack of dislike. She sensed that even three years ago, she might have loathed Lew, but today, she was just fascinated by the woman's complexity.

In the moments before sleep took her, Hermione forgave Lew for her quick judgments, in the same thought forgiving herself for her own.


	2. Chapter 2

_She was a face from my past, and so I justified the trembling in my hands, the anxious racing of my heart, as a legacy of our shared experience. I met her when I was thirteen, and even then she was stunning, bold. She couldn't have been older than seventeen at the time. I used to try to draw her, although I was constantly frustrated by my efforts. The fact that I could see my childhood hero every morning when I opened my eyes didn't explain the fact that her touch made me numb with excitement, but at least it explained my blushes. I was so good at lying to myself._

* * *

Hermione woke abruptly in the middle of the night to the sound of violent shaking. Was that Ron in the bed, or... Hermione remembered suddenly. Lew. A magical attack?

She stole out of bed, grabbing her wand from underneath her pillow. Lew was having some kind of seizure. Hermione grabbed her shoulder with her left hand, wand at the ready.

Lew twisted one more time, then stopped. Her eyes opened. "What," she said, propping herself up.

"You were shaking. Are you okay?"

"Uh... yeah. Sorry. Nightmare." Her face was glistening.

Hermione let go of her sweaty shoulder and stepped back. "Sleep is a vulnerable time. Are you sure that wasn't an attack?"

Lew shook her head, subdued. "I started having them almost three years ago. My healer said it wasn't magical. I'm here to get over it."

"Maybe you should get a second opinion. Have they been getting better?" Hermione sat on her bed.

"Not yet. My healer was Albus Dumbledore."

"Oh." That left no room for argument. She set her wand down and turned on a light. "Do you mind if I do some reading right now?" The sky was brightening.

"No, go for it." Lew swung her legs off the side of the bed. "I'm going for a run." She pulled some shorts on - Hermione noticed her legs were long and tight - and departed.

Two hours later, Hermione heard her showering behind the house. Then she dressed and began poring over what looked like an ancient book. Her hair was back, still wet, and the style was surprisingly becoming: it revealed the shape of Lew's face, brow furrowed slightly, her jaw working in an unconscious tic. Hermione wrenched her gaze away, biting back the urge to ask a question, to have those eyes meet hers.

Basking in this newfound free time, she finished the book, and autobiography of the witch responsible for the slavery of the house-elves in Europe, and completed her own lengthy notes on it. A whiny letter arrived from Ron, and she decided to shower before responding.

She was gathering her things, yawning, when Lew spoke up. "There's a gym here, right?" Hermione nodded, fearing that if she opened her mouth, the questions would come spilling out. "Cool. Wanna come?" She was nearly out the door when Hermione agreed.

The valley was suffused with midmorning sunlight. "I'm in the mood for some sparring. You?" Hermione asked, partly truthfully (which she never thought would happen), and partly because she was incredibly curious about this woman's supposed prowess. Lew agreed easily, and ten minutes later they were facing each other with matching wooden poles.

Lew moved softly on the ground, like she wasn't walking, but floating - rather like a gliding hawk. Hermione's trainer Harris moved like that. Suddenly Lew struck, very differently than Harris, with total viciousness, jerkily. Hermione blocked and attempted a reprise, and they were at it.

Lew was much stronger, and through simple physical power she pinned Hermione the first time. Hermione changed tactics, realizing she couldn't go at it straightforwardly. She started emphasizing attacks on the legs, trying to tire Lew's already taxed legs; if Lew was so confident that she would go for a long run and then spar the same day, Hermione would give her a run for her money.

When Lew's reactions started slowing slightly, Hermione caught her chance before she was too tired herself - she leapt and hooked her legs around the muscled shoulders. Lew staggered, trying to lock her staff behind Hermione's back, but Hermione was too quick, pushing herself up and over Lew's head, using her momentum to shove Lew to the ground. Lew dropped her pole and caught herself with her hands as Hermione spun and locked her arms around Lew's, snatching her hands and pulling them behind her back. Lew's jaw hit the mat, and then she spun on the ground and pinned Hermione easily, overpowering her again.

After a second, she got up off Hermione, offering a hand, which she took gratefully. Lew inclined her head. "We have things to teach each other. You almost had me." They walked over to the cabin in companionable silence, Hermione happy with that small concession.

Hermione was torn on the subject of formal robes; Lew said they should wear them, just to be safe, and fished hers out of her bag. It was a shoulder bag, and seemed to contain Lew's entire wardrobe, a pillow, several blankets, and at least three books that she'd seen.

Lew's reticence didn't seem unnatural. Hermione thought she was beginning to understand it: Lew wasn't really a quiet person, only one used to unconcerned solitude. Some people react to solitude by talking too much when they did have company; Lew simply sometimes forgot she had company at all. It was part of what Hermione had sensed before: this woman simply was, without regard to what others around her thought.

Lew's confidence about the righteousness of their assignment together reassured Hermione; she only wondered, with slight worry, what the Council would do with them now.

* * *

They were standing before the doors of the great hall, and it was high noon once again. Lew knocked, and they waited.

Hermione turned to her. "You said you went to Hogwarts? What house were you in?"

Lew glanced at her, blue eyes piercing in the sunlight. "Slytherin," she responded, and then the doors opened and they were let in.

Through her surprise, Hermione registered the assembly of the Council, as usual only about half of the total. She also recognized many Aurors from the day before, including the fat, bald wizard. They were all seated around an ovoid table.

Regin bowed nervously and sat down on a small chair. There were no other empty chairs. It looked like formal robes had been the right choice.

The vice-chair of the Council spoke. "The situation of a candidate being assigned to another candidate during training is unprecedented." The scribbling of an enchanted quill rang through the otherwise silent chamber, which explained the formality of his speech. "After deliberation, we have concluded that the pair of you will go through a training schedule devised by four of the Aurors on rotation; Regin will administer the tests, and hopefully we will all get back to business as quickly as possible. The Sorting Hat's decree will stand."

Hermione was torn between relief and a growing horror. She had never met a Slytherin she'd personally liked, or even one she could stand for more than ten minutes at a time. Now she was basically handcuffed to one, for at least two years.

"... work on this schedule," the vice-chair continued. "In the meantime, you will work on communication and mind-binding exercises. Some of this training will be shared with the other candidates and their mentors. Meet them tomorrow morning in the Charms grove."

Hermione found that she did indeed have a lot to say to Ron, after all.

* * *

Being a remarkably self-motivated person, Hermione had compiled a list of spells and other techniques for "communication and mind-binding" by the time they arrived in the clearing the next morning. She set it down carefully with the four books she'd thought would be helpful, and then launched herself into Harry's waiting arms.

"Where on earth have you been staying?" she burst out immediately.

Harry laughed, eyes twinkling. "What, you noticed I moved out? Mercy and I are rooming together in her cabin. I'm basically on house arrest, or I would have dropped by... we're working on charms for communication to start out with. I think we're co-casting spells today, though..."

Hermione followed Harry's gaze to a drop-dead beautiful witch, probably in her early thirties. "Harry, there's way too much heart-stopping beauty in this clearing."

Harry agreed, pointing out that Hermione's presence didn't help much. Then he chortled, raising his eyebrows as Jonah and his mentor arrived at the clearing. Jonah's mentor, Marco, averaged about half the visible organs, and his stench was evident from across the clearing. Just as evident was Jonah's distaste, which turned bitter when he saw the other two mentors. "He just brought the clearing beauty index down to tolerable levels," Harry quipped.

Hermione turned to her partner, who'd just appeared after having been gone all of the previous night. Lew was leaning against a nearby oak, spinning a longish twig in her fingers. Every time the twig faced forward, a sparkling flare issued forth. There was an odd look of concentration on her face. Suddenly she flipped the stick forward, gripping it with narrowed eyes, staring at the ground in front of her. It exploded in a black, moving blanket.

It was a colony of ants, conjured or perhaps transfigured of stones. She was using the twig from the ground as a wand, and performing complex spells with it. Hermione was flabbergasted.

Marco, who miraculously appeared to still possess both of his eyes - perhaps only to spite Mad-Eye Moody, the famous Auror - called their attention. "We'll do the large-group exercises here, end around six, break for lunch in about four hours. You two -" he gestured vaguely in Lew's direction, ignoring Hermione "- have to practice the silent-communication techniques on your own time."

Hermione's mind raced as they arranged themselves in a circle, rather like preschoolers for storytime. Silent-communication techniques? Perhaps he meant the Balidor spell?

"We'll start with something simple." Mercy, Harry's mentor, wilted under the stare of Marco. "At least that's what it says we should do," she added, and then backed down entirely, almost visibly shrinking.

Hermione craned her neck; it looked like she was clutching a small book... "Is that... is that some sort of manual?" she asked, with growing annoyance. Mercy was prim and obviously backboneless, yet it was _she_ who had the manual.

"Yes, they gave it to us to prepare." Marco's voice was rumbling and vaguely Hispanic, Hermione noticed. She bit her tongue.

Marco nodded at Mercy. "We'll start with a simple levitation." He dropped a rock in the center of their circle. "I don't expect to succeed until afternoon. I'll lead."

The concept was simple: give up a portion of your magic to the actual caster, the "leader." The catch was this: every bit of previous training regarding the sharing of magic was preventative. Defense Against the Dark Arts specifically focused on protecting against this exact scenario.

Hermione supposed that the little training Harry'd had in Occlumency helped rather than hurt him, perhaps by making him more aware of his mind in relation to other minds. Lew seemed to master the task by sheer force of will, but Hermione and Jonah were struggling. Hermione had the slight recompense that Jonah seemed to be a bit worse than she was, but being one of the worst students in a group was both uncomfortable and relatively unprecedented. She gritted her teeth and tried harder, which only seemed to earn her more mocking comments from Marco.

An hour after they'd started, with the sun mounting the sky above them, cutting through the branches overhead, Lew called for a break. Everyone sat down, relieved, but Lew brought Hermione away from the group.

"Listen," Lew said earnestly. "Half of this exercise is communication, which we didn't have the chance to practice or even understand on a theoretical level. You're doing incredibly well, for that."

Hermione found her frustration ebbing. "You're getting it fine, though," she pointed out.

"I've done things like this before, as your friend Harry probably has. The key is..." Lew paused, grasping for words. "The key is, letting go. It's like a lack of effort... like meditation. Lose consciousness of your magic - don't scoop it up and offer it. Marco will take it from you, and then you'll know how that feels and you'll start understanding it."

Hermione found that Lew was right; once she'd figured out how to let Marco in, the rest flowed more easily. The rest of the day passed quickly. By the end of it, they'd successfully sent a boulder flying at least ten feet in the air, and transfigured a bush into a pot.

Marco concluded the day with a foreboding promise. "Tomorrow we'll have Mercy lead, and then do some true co-casting - combining spells by different casters." He turned to Hermione and Lew. "You two better do well with the communication practice. Tomorrow we'll be using it."

"Sir." Hermione didn't hesitate. "We need to know what the 'communication' entails - is it a spell?"

Marco raised an eyebrow. "No wands, no words. Start holding hands, progress to long-distance. Communicate images and speech, whatever you want. The concept is similar to what we've been doing here. Good luck."

It was already getting dark. Hermione trudged home, arms heavy with books and exhaustion. She didn't expect to sleep much that night.

Lew had sensed that she was tired and offered to bring back food from the mess hall, and she was looking forward to those few minutes alone. She opened the door to a clumsy shout. "Hermione! Home!"

It was Ron. The five-o'clock teapot from the Three Broomsticks. How could I have forgotten? "How are you, sweetie?" she said, mentally responding, _Drunk_.

"Terrible," he said, collapsing back on her bed. It looked like he hadn't changed his clothes since last visit. "But I came here! Where've you been? I was curious to meet your mentor, but I guess she's gone..." He didn't look very disappointed.

"She'll be coming with food, actually," Hermione said, to Ron's dismay. "We've been casting all day." She sat on the bed, wondering if he'd notice that this was the first time in her training that she'd been allowed a wand.

"Oh. Kisses before?" he asked hopefully, puckering. She sometimes wondered whether his complaint of Lavender Brown had been heartfelt; this was the more wordy of his visits. She sighed and consented; the butterbeer would destroy any semblance of a conversation anyway.

His face was rough with stubble, and the kisses were sloppy. They were sweeter than usual, and she welcomed the more caring touch. He'd become a more aggressive lover since he'd been sent back to Hogwarts, and it wasn't an improvement.

She wasn't surprised when Lew knocked, actually almost relieved. Lew was overburdened with food, easily enough for Ron, too. Hermione nodded her thanks and helped to set the food on the small table at the back of the cabin.

"Lew, Ron." Hermione was brief. Ron lay like a beached whale in her bed. "I believe you've met before."

Ron scrambled up, eyes on the packages. "Can I have some?"

Ron, it turned out, didn't remember Lew at all. Harry appeared soon after they'd finished eating, and Hermione gratefully unloaded Ron onto him; he seemed unable to prevent himself from interrupting their first attempts at mastering this new task. Hermione hoped that spending time alone would help the men's friendship. Ron seemed to think that Harry had personally wronged him by doing well at the NEWTs, a criticism that Hermione, by virtue of brains and charisma, was mostly exempt from. This, and the distance of a year, had fractured their friendship, which had been so strong for so many years.

With Ron gone, Lew and Hermione faced each other on the floor of the cabin. To Hermione's overexhausted eye, everything seemed oddly clear: the knots in the bare wood walls, the shade of the yellow stripes on Lew's blanket, the white of her shirt, and the searing quality of her eyes.

The exercise was communication, but Hermione found it was more about understanding. When they finally started coming through, the messages were in code - the code of Lew's mind.

The first image Hermione got was of a mountain - not from its base, but somewhere above. Terrifyingly vivid, somehow primal, and ultimately complete in its simplicity. Hermione was floored. When the words started coming, they were similar, edged with a clarity, a desperate calm, that was very different from Hermione's thoughts. She struggled to decipher the hard-edged words, finding that the difficulty in this exercise was not in sending messages, but receiving them.

It was deep in the night when Hermione called break. "Maybe it would be easier if we tried to... dunno... tune in to the other's frequency before sending the messages?" Her words, the first in hours, shattered the strange, charged silence in the room.

Lew pondered, and Hermione wondered at how such a vivid, pure clarity could be integrated with the complex thinking she saw flashing behind her companion's eyes now. "I think it'd be too hard," Lew decided. "If we got it wrong, it would be almost impossible to salvage."

Hermione nodded, but she wasn't sure. Impulsively, she grabbed Lew's hand and thought, with a fierce clarity, 'Do all members of the House of Slytherin think like snakes?'

Lew grinned at her. "That was great," she said aloud, and then Hermione felt a thought being thrown back at her: 'Does every mousehaired Mudblood, up shit creek without a thesaurus, require thought associations like the branch of a pine to understand what a day-old hatchling could?' With that came a hissing sound, deep in the throat, as a snake would make.

As Hermione was recovering from that sound, an image followed it - a black raven, beady eyes cocked, leaping off the rampart of a castle. The raven ducked low and came back into view, triumphant, a green snake caught in its bill.

"Life isn't an extended metaphor," Lew said. Hermione opened her eyes slowly and saw the raven behind, through, _inside_ the witch opposite her. "I am no more a snake than you, otter."


	3. Chapter 3

_It was when I began to understand her acute vulnerability that I truly fell in love with her. Whether it was because we were partnered or for some other reason, she really made an effort to communicate with me, to let me into her quiet world. Later I found out that she had spent the better part of the last two years in her animal form. The human world had not been kind to her, and for a while she gave up entirely on her own race. I never thought to question what had happened to her own friends, or why she had not chosen to do law enforcement in America. It was far too thrilling to find an equal in intelligence and academic curiosity. Whether I'd admitted it or not, after that first night of mental communication, I could not even pretend to myself that I was in love with Ron, or had ever been._

* * *

The pair slept only a few hours that night. Hermione woke to Lew shaking in her bed, and turned over, ignoring it. The shaking stopped with Hermione's alarm a few minutes later, and Lew sat up, rubbing her face briskly. Hermione wondered if she'd ever get used to that.

They dressed silently, and then Lew faced her. "I'm sorry I was harsh last night. It was unnecessary. As for 'Mudblood,' in America we use that term loosely; I said it reflexively. My parents were both Muggles."

"Apology accepted," Hermione said haughtily, and then she shook her head, trying to dispel her lingering annoyance. "It's amazingly easy to forget you're Slytherin, and I'm... trying to make sense of it."

Lew smiled ironically. "Kid, this is the real world. You don't fit people into categories: good or bad, brave or stupid. The distinctions of childhood are nothing but lines in the sand." She opened the door for Hermione. "Can you tell me how you enchanted your CD player to never run out of batteries?"

Lew made efforts all day to make up for the last night, and Hermione found herself swayed from her bad humor. Over lunch, she asked Hermione about her first magical experience. Hermione, surprised and flattered at the attention, went into great detail.

Her parents were both orthodontists, and as a child Hermione walked herself to their office after school every day. Most of the time she hurried, eager to arrive so she could check on the tooth molds and read. But one day, she dragged her feet, thoughtful. A kid at kindergarten had made fun of her bushy hair, and she was devastated. She picked up a berry off the ground and cupped it in her hands. The berry sprouted hair - long, flowing, beautiful hair that fell right through her fingers, much as she imagined Lew's might.

"At least," Hermione amended, "that's the first I remember. After I got my letter, my parents said they had wondered about me a lot - for example, apparently they used to find me crawling on the kitchen counter, with no visible means of arriving there. Once, after my hamster had apparently died, I came out of my room with it squealing in my hands, resurrected."

Lew smiled. "Why am I not surprised that you raised the dead accidentally as a child?"

Hermione's lip twisted. "Of course I actually didn't," she corrected quickly.

"No, no, what I mean is... you're an incredibly powerful witch. I've often wondered what the raw magical talent is capable of, without training or concrete... direction. Perhaps training... perhaps it's a double-edged sword. In other words, maybe your studiousness isn't the gift you suppose, in terms of raw power."

Hermione was taken aback. "Interesting. But how could you test it?"

"I'm an Animagus- a raven, which you know. In my animal form, I just... I feel differently. When I turn back, sometimes the first spell I cast is... less controlled. That's why I've been casting with raw wands - I'm trying to capture the essence of my magic."

Hermione was caught in her eyes. She took a quick breath, finding that breathing steadied the room considerably. "That's what you are, you know," she said quietly. "Raw. So intense."

Something passed between them then, and it hung in the air for the rest of the day's training. Ron was in the cabin when they returned, and after eating, Lew went out. The feeling went with her, and Hermione was left with Ron all night.

* * *

_The hag cackled at her, features grotesquely deformed in the filtered light. Suddenly Lew appeared on a broomstick, her hair black and long, her face lined in age. She considered the hag for a few long seconds, and then deliberately took out her wand. "Crucio!"_

Hermione woke abruptly, sweating. She rolled on to her stomach, cupping her chin. It was a Sunday, and the noon light filled the otherwise empty cabin. Rest day. She must have fallen asleep after Ron left. Then she looked at the clock, starting. 12:10. She was ten minutes late.

When she arrived at the mess hall, Harry'd just sat down with a plate piled with cobs of corn. He got up quickly at the sight of her. "Figured you'd forgotten about me," he said apologetically.

"I fell asleep and didn't set an alarm. Sorry." She hugged him impulsively, suddenly realizing how nice it felt to just touch another human being. Not like Ron, with his stifling sweaty hands and undue expectations... Just a friend. Hermione remembered what it'd been like to touch Ron before they'd started dating. It'd been... better.

When she broke the hug, Harry looked at her closely. "You alright?" he asked seriously.

"Pretty much," she shrugged. They wandered to the open kitchen, where a scowling house-elf sat on a stool, dangling his feet. "Hello, Pippin," she greeted him. He grunted. She forced a smile. "What've you got today?" she asked, guessing it was potatoes and corn on the cob.

"You know, you don't have to eat the nasties. He always burns the potatoes..." Harry hissed at her when they got far enough away. "And I think he puts chili powder on the cottage greens, too," he added, piling on the incriminating evidence.

Hermione shook her head. She'd given up trying to convince Harry long ago; she figured Ron's wizardly upbringing had infected Harry's opinion on all house-elves but Dobby. Now she was waiting for a breakthrough, biding her time. S.P.E.W. would soon experience a revival.

She poked at her greens. Finally, she looked up. "Tell me about what happened with Ron the other night."

"Not before you tell me what's bothering you," he said, and waited.

"Well... him. To start out with, he's being an insensitive prat. He usually is, but... he's not even trying." She sighed. "We never talk. He doesn't care, or doesn't want to know, about anything I'm doing."

Harry shook his head, agreeing. "But you know this is hard for him. He's been a good sport the whole year, and he's just... sort of unfocused right now. You can't blame him."

Hermione nodded. "It's too bad the Council wouldn't let us start training the year later, so we could be with him," she said. "I offered to quit it completely, but you know Ron..."

"I do," Harry said, and Hermione's heart broke for him. Ron had been ambivalent about his time with Harry, but Hermione knew it would just have reminded Harry of the friend he'd lost.

"Maybe in a few years, when he feels like he's on equal footing again," she said, trying to comfort him.

Harry shook his head. "Were we ever on equal footing, the three of us? Will we ever be?"

"Well, you've no more advantage fighting the remaining Death Eaters than he does, now," she pointed out. Harry allowed himself to be comforted, ironically at the thought that he was vulnerable. He finally picked up his corn.

"What's it that qualifies a person to be Slytherin?" Hermione asked suddenly. "We know they're not all pureblood, or necessarily evil, or even interested in Dark Magic -"

Harry was puzzled by this change in topic. "Well, where your strengths lie, what you chose to pursue," he listed. "I guess Slytherins pursue power with less... um, finesse, or... scruples. D'you know, the Hat seriously considered putting me in Slytherin?" Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Regrets it to this day." He grinned at that.

"God, how different Hogwarts would've been. I wonder, would you have defeated Voldemort?" She picked up one of his pieces of corn.

Harry shrugged. "Guess we'll never know," he said, and seemed content with that.

Hermione leaned forward. "Tell me about Mercy. How's it been, locked up with her the last two weeks?"

Harry raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Hermione had never been very good at making friends, particularly female friends. Before Hogwarts, she'd only had one good friend, John. They'd spent every lunch hour making up strategy games and then playing them. Then there was Hogwarts, and Harry, and then Ron, and of course Viktor Krum, who despite his romantic interest was essentially a good friend. She'd developed her female-friend skills a little as her schooling progressed, but she found herself always going to the boys for anything real - as if her female friends were there as fluff, more to prove she could than because she wanted to.

But Lew blew that barrier wide open. Hermione learned quickly to relax around her, finding in her presence companionship without expectation. Lew was unimpressed by Hermione's glamorous past. More than that, she had a keen intelligence; Hermione found herself matched by Lew's knowledge, and often surprised at her intuition. She had no secrets, though many mysteries, and Hermione found the combination intriguing. She sensed that something very important happened in the six years since California that changed Lew fundamentally, but she wasn't really sure whether she wanted to know what had changed - or whether, when she knew, she would ever be able to treat Lew the same again.

Two weeks after she began training with Lew, Ron got his acceptance letter. He celebrated by ignoring Hermione for two days; it was Harry who mentioned it. She was standing at the dirt mound when Ron arrived the next day, and the argument could be heard faintly on a nearby peak.

The next day, Lew asked Hermione about her parents. "You never talk to them, do you, Mio?" she noted. She'd started using that nickname recently; it only vaguely resembled "Hermione," but it was much better than some nicknames she'd acquired.

Hermione closed her eyes. They were in the forest; it was a game of hide-and-go-seek with 20 squirrels, notes attached to their backs. They engaged in it disinterestedly, though Hermione took the opportunity of snatching the squirrels with her magic to take out some of her tension about the Ron situation. "I altered their memories before leaving Hogwarts, to protect them. They're in Australia now; I visited them last year, but they seemed so satisfied and happy... I couldn't give them back their daughter, only to worry them and never visit them, and perhaps only to take her away again, in death."

"So they don't know you exist," Lew said. Hermione nodded, unable to keep the sadness off her face. "Squirrel!" Lew interrupted the moment, clenching her fist and then jerking it toward her. The sighted squirrel flew in the air toward them.

Hermione shook her head at the display of power. "Be gentle," she said, catching the squirrel midair with her wand and lowering it, screaming, to the ground, ignoring the fact that she'd done the same thing ten minutes before.

Lew rolled her eyes.

* * *

That night, somewhere towards morning, Lew's shaking woke Hermione. She woke easily, instantly alert, and approached Lew's bed to wake her. She'd done this every night for the last few weeks, and usually it was only a matter of shaking the witch's shoulder and falling back asleep. But this night, she paused above Lew's bed. The other woman's face was eerily serene in the moonlight, and her body's jerking was slowing. The seizure appeared to have passed.

Instead of waking her, Hermione hesitated, then slipped down to lay next to her in the bed, careful not to touch her. An unfamiliar sensation was coursing through her, and she allowed the feeling to fill her body. She reached out her hand, bringing it close to the woman's face, hovering in the air. Then she touched her face, feather-light and careful.

Lew snapped into motion, her arms twisting to throw Hermione across the room. The last few yards were assisted by her magic, and then Hermione collapsed in the corner, caught totally by surprise but feeling somehow guilty. The pain hit a second later, and she scrambled up, facing Lew in the darkened room.

Maybe Dumbledore was wrong about the dreams, after all... Lew rose from her bed slowly, like a predator, and took a few steps toward her. "Lew," Hermione whispered, terrified.

Then Lew relaxed. "Mio?" she said. "Shit, is that you?"

"Yes," Hermione said, and found herself swept up in Lew's arms.

"I'm so sorry," she said simply, but she was shaking and her body was wet and cold. After a few moments, she said, "Shit, there's only two things that are keeping me on the ground - my determination, and you. Please understand that." She pulled back and looked at Hermione's face.

Being the subject of Lew's focused attention always made her heart race, but with Lew so close the sensation was almost unbearably intense. She felt Lew's breath on her face, smelling of spearmint and raw carrots, and almost fainted. "I won't let you go," Hermione said, and, as if to emphasize that point, clutched on to her in a bizarre reversal.

Lew broke the embrace first, but only to lead Hermione to her bed. Neither ready to sleep alone, they clutched each other until the sun rose, wordless but unbelievably aware.

The next day was group exercise, the last before Harry and Jonah left to train in the real world. Lew and Hermione were scheduled to stay another few days after that. Neither had any clue as to what they'd be doing thereafter.

Hermione avoided Lew as much as she could. She didn't look at her once during the exercises, which were essentially a review of everything they'd done before, and for lunch she sat with Harry and he gave her the run-down on what he and Mercy were doing. Apparently they were going around the world to acquaint Harry with Mercy's contacts, some legitimate and some... not.

"She's so beautiful," Harry whispered, leaning across the table. Hermione jumped, thinking he was talking about Lew. "And she keeps giving me hints. I don't know how I'm going to handle another two years, Hermione..." She finally relaxed, realizing he was talking about Mercy.

"Well, you're still with Ginny," Hermione reminded him factually. "Do you think you could love Mercy? If you don't, stay with Ginny. If you could, and you're attracted to her..."

Harry shook his head. "I don't think I could love her. Which is exactly the problem, I feel like a... a shallow git."

Hermione shrugged. "Well, you are."

Into that awkward pause entered Ron, who sat heavily on the bench next to them. For a moment it felt like the last three years had been a dream and they were still at Hogwarts, served by the resident house-elves, eating between classes. She supposed that might have something to do with the fact that she was consistently practicing magic again, and part of it was that she, for almost the first time in a year, was actually berating her friends.

And they were all together, in a casual, everyday way. "Are what?" Ron asked, without real curiosity.

Hermione checked with Harry, then shook her head. "I was just saying he was a git for not enjoying poor Pippin's cooking."

Ron made a face and gesticulated at his own plate. "Can't blame him, Hermione," he said when he got around a bite. "This stuff is pretty awful."

* * *

"God," Ron said, "am I exhausted." He was sprawled on his bed.

"Well, here's your food," Hermione said, dropping a packet of hot cakes on the bed. "Is this your way of dismissing me?"

"Um," Ron said, staring at the ceiling.

Hermione felt a slow fury building in her. "You've only been training for two days," she pointed out, keeping her voice level. "Can you just imagine how you'll feel in a week? A month?"

Ron sat up. "Ugh, I know. Maybe you'd bring me some ice?"

Hermione turned from him in exasperation, then spun. "Ron Weasley... Could you tell me the first time I knew I was a witch?"

Ron stared at her blankly. "I don't see what that has to do with ice?" he said.

"It doesn't. Forget it. You never brought me ice - and only brought me food once. It's not like I don't have better things to do than wait on you!"

He finally got it. "You're mad at me," he observed wonderingly.

"Yeah, I am," she spat.

"Slow down, slow down, give a fella half a chance," he said, sitting up. "If you don't wanna bring me things, just say."

"Oh, it is so much more than that," she said, almost menacingly.

"Is it now," he said, and she knew he'd extended his own metaphorical claws. They hadn't fought seriously - really fought at all - since last year, worried they'd say too much perhaps. The bond that tied them together was too tenuous.

" _Can_ you tell me?" she said, knowing he couldn't. He'd never asked, taking magic for granted in a way she never would. How was it that Lew understood that part of her in two weeks, when Ron still didn't after nine years of friendship?

"How should I know? That's your own business," he offered.

"Then how do I know what yours was?"

"Because you pay so much bloody attention it'd kill a chicken."

Hermione had to choke her giggle at that. "So first it's not enough attention, and now it's too much?" Ron shrugged. "Ron, why don't we ever talk?"

"We talk plenty. What's meant by talking, anyway?"

"Alright... sometimes we open our mouths, but only about... stupid stuff. Doesn't anything more sophisticated than the latest Quidditch match permeate your brain's outer covering? That being your skull," she clarified, not that Ron even knew about the neocortex.

"Hey, that's supportive, I finally get my dream of being the Quidditch captain and you're mocking it?"

"Is that all I am for you? Support and attention? How much of that would you say I got, the average day?"

"Look, that's not what I'm saying."

Hermione wasn't paying attention. She'd realized something. "You know what it is, Ronald? You have no ambition."

"Sure, because only getting into about the hardest training program in the world, only passing six N.E.W.T.S., that's really... nothing." Hermione thought of Lew, who was only there because of her nightmares, and of herself, who could have passed without studying halfway through her fifth year. "Even though that's all I thought about last year, all I tried for, except Quidditch." He looked pitiful, but was attempting with all his heart a fair "indignant."

"I mean..." Hermione shook her head slowly. "Ron, I love you how you are," she finished, hoping that'd be enough.

"You know, Hermione, I have dignity, too." His fight was coming back. "You know how many girls I've turned down for you? I'm a hot commodity."

Hermione scoffed, her fury reignited. "What, I should be grateful you're still around? If you're so curious about being with somebody else..."

"Maybe I am!" He stood up.

"We should break up, then," Hermione said, as if that was the logical conclusion. Ron looked confused. "Neither of us is happy, obviously..."

"Is that what you came here to do? Break up with me? Drag me into an argument..." He lapsed into speechlessness, sputtering.

"Of course not! I came to give you... give you the food." She gestured at the package on his bed, and suddenly the momentum of the moment dissipated, and she needed to escape.

"So we'll just forget it then?" He trailed off, confused, as she pushed past him, eyes averted.

She muttered, "I'll see you tomorrow," and closed the door behind her.

The fresh cold air was welcome, and she walked briskly into the night toward her own cabin, holding her jacket. The full moon lit the clearing, and when her eyes adjusted it seemed as light as day. The absence of artificial lights made the stars glimmer more brightly.

She was shaking when she reached the cabin, but though her skin was cold she felt a strange urgency, a desperation that kept her moving past the door of her cabin and toward the forest. She skirted its edges, holding her wand in her pocket, and then deposited her jacket on a stump and started jogging through the trees. The moonlight through the forest canopy made it difficult to pick out rough areas on the ground, so she shortened her stride and kept her eyes lowered.

The tumult of her emotions eventually quieted under the steady rhythm of her own movement. She figured she'd gone almost a mile into the forest when she slowed to a walk again, feeling her tension like her sweat coat her externally, and then evaporate into the air. She stripped off her light sweater, baring her arms to the chill air.

The energy of the forest was different from the Auror headquarters, and Hermione finally realized why Lew took such long runs. She felt irrationally safer here, as if being only one of the many creatures of the forest granted safety in numbers. Fancying herself as dangerous as the wolves that prowled here, as any creature of the woods, she glimpsed ahead of her an empty meadow. She stalked towards it.

When she emerged from the trees she was once again surprised by the brightness of the night. Each detail of the meadow was vividly clear. Standing there, she felt a fierce wildness in her heart, a need to open herself to the beauty and majesty of the forest. She threw back her head, opening her arms to the sky.

It wasn't enough. She pulled off her shirt, too, and when she looked up she saw a figure in the center of the meadow, with huge sweeping wings, hovering above a swell in the ground. It landed softly, and she realized she needed to be on that hill - more, to be closer to the creature she saw there. It was beautiful, completely naked, clawed and scaly legs dainty, and its mouth was moving soundlessly. A woman - a harpy, she realized with part of her mind.

She reached the swell, and the harpy touched her face softly, cupping it, lips moving, eyes full of expression. Hermione felt a deep longing touch her, a longing to be a part of the wilderness forever, to dissipate into the coldly burning sky - to become a part of this woman, this harpy, and roam the skies with her...

Her fingers slipped into her pocket. " _Silencio_ ," she whispered.

The haze lifted slowly, and Hermione was barely aware that the harpy's expression had slipped into one of fury before she felt its claws sink into her neck and face. She pulled out her wand, pain bringing the world into focus. " _Impedimenta_ ," she cast, and stepped back out of its reach. It stumbled as it reached for her, but the spell wasn't very strong.

She took another step back, raising her wand. " _Pulsus Aeris!_ " she cast, the force of the spell pushing her backwards another step. The wall of air that rushed from her wand missed the harpy's body and instead hit one of its wings, spinning and finally toppling it.

"Please leave this place," Hermione said clearly. "I don't want to hurt you."

The harpy scrambled up and, throwing one last look over its shoulder, took flight. Hermione watched it until it disappeared over the trees before lighting her wand and finding her discarded shirt and sweater. She clumsily healed the deepest of the claw marks on her face, and then trudged back to the compound, the magic of the moonlight totally dispelled.


	4. Chapter 4

_For nearly four days I convinced myself that the only reason I lay in that bed with Lew was that we were both scared, and like childhood friends we held each other for comfort. I forgot how perfectly I nestled into her body, how her smell filled my chest and overflowed into my panties, how tremblingly close my lips were to her collarbone. It was a perfect moment, and yet so saturated with blinding desperate desire that it physically hurt. There was no way I could continue life as normal, and still retain the memory of that moment. So I pushed it into the back of my mind, where it festered. I was too morally aware to allow myself to have those feelings. Yet they could not be denied, and if I did not allow my mind or even my aching heart to remember, her lightest touch made my body remember, and stopping myself from acting on my body's need was like trying to stop a river from flowing. The dam would only hold for so long._

* * *

Though most badly injured Aurors ended up in St. Mungo's, Grasia had a resident Healer. Hermione considered waking him to heal her face, but exhaustion brought her to her cabin, which she hadn't entered since the night before. She'd hoped to sleep at Ron's, successfully avoiding Lew for the entire day, but returning to her own brought a sense of safety and comfort that Ron's cabin couldn't have, especially after their fight.

She hadn't realized she was numb until she opened the cabin's door. The warmth of the single room inside welcomed her, and she thought it strange that she could have embraced the freezing cold as she had, suddenly desperate to dispel it completely from her body. She crawled into bed fully clothed, shuddering a little under the covers.

She thought of the blood on her face, undoubtedly leaking onto her sheets, and then promptly forgot it as she heard Lew stirring in the bed across the room.

"Hermione," she finally whispered. She thought it sounded like Lew was caressing the word with her tongue, being careful to pronounce every syllable with careful warmth mixed with apology.

"Do you know any skin-healing spells?"

Lew sat up abruptly. "A few, are you hurt?" She flipped on her light, and then cursed fluently and leapt to Hermione's side. "What happened to you?"

Hermione acquiesced to her ministrations, somehow unsurprised that Lew's hands and wandwork were skillful, even at this task so unfamiliar to most wizards. She stayed quiet, letting Lew concentrate, keeping her blankets on her shoulders.

By the time Lew had finished, the cold had mostly seeped out of her bones. "A harpy, I think. It sang," she said, letting confusion creep into her voice. Lew's care had relaxed her, but now that Lew had stopped and was paying attention to what she was saying, her previous mixture of disdain and fear pushed to the surface again. The intensity of Lew's gaze brought a memory with it, which she forcibly suppressed - the heady feeling of Lew's body against hers, motionless but full of tension.

"Harpies don't usually sing, those are the Siren. I've never heard of a Siren this far inland, though."

"I know it was a harpy," Hermione said, frustrated. "The body was one hundred percent harpy."

Lew sensed her tension and backed down. "Was it a Siren's song?"

Hermione considered, drawing on her knowledge of the song. "I'm fairly certain the Siren's song is just... beautiful. This song, I think... I think it was closer to an enchantment, because I couldn't hear it, and all it did was draw me closer to the harpy."

"Yes, that was stupid of me. A Siren would never claw your face, either."

Hermione was intrigued. "Wouldn't it?"

"No," Lew said. "I met a Siren once. A sea creature, so beautiful you couldn't believe, and she muted her song for me. So that I wouldn't be caught by it and refuse to eat, refuse to leave." She grinned, her eyes somewhere far away. "She wrote her messages to me in the sand of her island. All about it were bones, deep in the sea, but none recent. I was there to collect Sirenshair, and fully expected to kill her to get it, but she sheared her head for me, begged me to take it from her. So I did."

"What did you need Sirenshair for?" Hermione was trying to remember which potions required it; they were all highly advanced and specific.

"Oh, I didn't need it. I was - I was on commission for Gringotts. My job," she grinned again, sheepishly this time. "I was a specialist of the sea, always wished I could turn into something that swam. I'm stuck with the raven, though. At least I can fly."

Something clicked. "That's what you were doing on the sea the day I saw you, isn't it?"

Lew nodded. "I'm not proud of it," she said, with an air of defensiveness.

"What, stealing things from helpless non-wizards? Killing them and looting their corpses?" Hermione said, but without her usual indignance. There was something about the way Lew held herself that made her feel like it wasn't her place to judge.

Lew shrugged. "I'm here now, aren't I? Magical law enforcement and all."

Hermione sat up, inviting Lew to sit next to her on the bed. Lew did so. "You know, there's something I just thought of. I remembered you used the Cruciatus Curse on... when you dueled that witch in Santa Cruz."

Lew was even more sheepish. "I don't remember, but I suppose I might have. I went through a phase of experimentation with Dark Magic." She shifted. "You can't tell me you've never used an Unforgivable?"

Hermione shook her head. "I've never, but Harry has. But he only used them when it was the only option! There are a million other curses you could have used." Her accusation was unabashed.

Lew didn't notice, lost in a reverie. Suddenly she shook herself, looking at Hermione with intensity. "Let me explain. I'd left school two years before, just came of age at seventeen. I'd been with Gringott's for most of those two years, and I had this friend. His father was a Death Eater, but he... was incredibly intelligent. He opened intellectual doors for me, so that when it came to Dark Magic, I was thinking that it'd just be another thing he... had some insight into, you know? So I experiemented with him." A shadow passed over her face. "He just kept getting worse, more into Dark Magic, meaner. But in the early days, he was... a good friend."

She squinted, an expression Hermione recognized as a conversation-stopper. Unexpectedly, however, by some force of will she continued. "Dumbledore kept saying I can't deny who he used to be. I guess he knows about those things, you know?"

Hermione nodded, thinking of Dumbledore and Grindelwald, and then of Draco Malfoy and of the many wizards who did unspeakable acts under the Imperius Curse.

Then she wondered, with a horrible sinking feeling, if there had been more than friendship between the Dark wizard and Lew. When the lights were out and the room was quiet, the question lingered on her tongue, unspoken, drowning out any worries of Ron and their first-ever "together" fight, or thoughts of her near-fatal encounter with the harpy.

* * *

The next day didn't break as much as creep up. The sky changed overnight into a black blanket, and day wrought only slow degrees of brightness on it, peaking at noon in a white haze. There was tension in the air, as if the sky was holding its breath.

Hermione woke with an empty feeling. She rushed outside to stand on the tiny porch, but Harry'd already left with Mercy. Though she's said goodbye the evening before, she felt a loneliness settle in her. A phase of life was ending, and she wasn't sure what would follow it. The only certain thing was that she would enter it alone.

She stood there until the sky snuck a breath, showering the landscape with tiny droplets of rain. Then she ducked inside, more to save her pajamas than because she wanted to be there. The precious shelter of the previous night had become a prison.

Lew was probably still running, which left Hermione with a few hours before they started drilling again. But she was restless, impatiently putting aside her translation of Beedle, picking up an article she was writing for the Quibbler and then just as quickly discarding it, too. She was suddenly disgusted with academia.

She ended up leaving the cabin just as Lew was winding down from her run. They greeted each other distantly, and Hermione made her way to the Temp Quarters. There was a retired Auror in the common room, but she knew him to be slightly senile and so left quickly, a little disappointed.

Most of the training was individual for that day. They'd finally been given an instructions manual, undoubtedly highly modified, and had almost mastered every technique in it already. Hermione had found herself tutoring Lew in a few of the spells, ones she'd read about or already practiced. This was a position Hermione found herself in often - what was different was that Lew was able to help her in return.

But all that had already happened, and now they were sitting on the floor, facing opposite walls, practicing spells they'd only just learned about the week before. Hermione was fighting to conjure a messenger Patronus, finding the task especially difficult today. She never really knew what happy thought to use. The memory of she, Harry, and Ron together, unified, was out of the question, though she sentimentally tried anyway. Her parents just seemed so far away. She was dipping into her memories of Viktor Krum when a brisk knock on the door sounded.

It was Ron. He pulled her outside, face red, and she realized it must be lunchtime. The sky was like black paint sloppily mixed with milk, bathing everything in a vague white color.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" he said distractedly.

"A day from tomorrow, yes," she said, biting back unwarranted harsh words.

He focused back on her. "D'you really think we should... you know... Bloody hell, Hermione, what happened to your face?"

She shrugged it off. "Unimportant. Ron, let's break up."

He nodded, and she felt a great weight lift off her. Though she didn't try to conjure Patronuses anymore, she had the feeling that if she could identify exactly why she was so happy, her graceful otter would jump onto her fingertips with nary an incantation.

* * *

When Hermione first walked the corridors of Hogwarts by herself, she came upon a portrait on the walls. She'd stopped, transfixed by the expression on the woman's face. Serene, watchful, with a gleaming tiara atop her dark red hair, she seemed the embodiment of majesty. Hermione imagined that it must be a princess, or maybe a queen, but there was no explanatory plaque under the portrait so she was left wondering; certainly the picture wouldn't tell her, although Hermione had asked it, surreptitiously.

In her near-daily pilgrimages to the school library, she made it a habit to pause at the picture, to study it for several minutes before hurrying off, hoping nobody had noticed her. She'd only seen the woman in it move a few times, just to adjust her hair, carefully, full of dignity.

During the Battle of Hogwarts, she'd visited it, half-afraid it'd been taken down by the school's new dictatorship. The sight of it had renewed her hope, allowed her to hold on even when it seemed everything was lost, with Harry's limp body parading before them.

When she visited Hogwarts last year, she tried to show it to Ron. He was unimpressed, and didn't even seem to notice her deep embarrassment. She was somewhat relieved by this.

Only one thing had affected her as deeply as that portrait. She'd always acted the supportive role to Harry and Ron when it came to Quidditch, but one day she bumped into a Ravenclaw player the morning before a match. Something about the player was compelling to her, even attractive; she couldn't remember anybody who'd caught her eye like that before. She vaguely recognized the student, but she'd never spoken to him. Griffindor wasn't playing, but she hadn't had anything to do, so she brought her book to the game. She then spent the next two and a half hours rapt, watching him whack Bludger after Bludger at Slytherin players.

At the end of the game, she'd nudged a Ravenclaw near her and asked, "What's his name?"

She'd looked confused. "You mean Virginia Roches?"

Hermione had avoided walking near the Ravenclaw table for a year after that.

And that huge, covered mirror she and Ron had found, in the summer before their fifth year in Sirus's house - the mirror Ron had identified as the Mirror of Erised, and warned her away from - the mirror she had, before he'd pulled the curtain back over with a longing look, caught a glimpse into...

Sitting at a desk in the library now, her quill forgotten in her hand, she pulled together lost pieces of her life. She saw how they matched up, with broken edges and fragmented repressed memories, into a horrifying picture. A picture she'd denied repeatedly, but for this short moment could no longer refute.

She shook the thought off and picked up the strain of her writing again. The next day she and Lew would leave together, and now was not the time.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione woke on dusty soil, surrounded by drying husks of grass. She moved her body slowly, senses alert, gripping her wand with white knuckles. Lew opened her eyes cautiously beside her.

They appeared to be in a huge open plain with sparse grass. A rising chill wind howled in some shallow hills. If the rising sun was any judge of direction, those were to the west, while some bare trees languished to the south. And there wasn't much else.

Except a single, small piece of parchment. It read:

"You have ten days. There is only one rule: No Apparition."

"That's easily enough time to starve," Hermione said after a pause, a little panicky. Lew nodded vaguely, her blue eyes flashing everywhere. In this barren place, her freakish red scar stood out starkly, and her wordlessness only served to intensify Hermione's fear. "Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, the exceptions - "

"I know," Lew said, still distant. "BIDES - Being, Individual, Distance, Existant, Subsistence."

Hermione began pacing. "I doubt there are any mushrooms around here..."

That got Lew's attention. She looked at Hermione, eyes dancing. "You a particular fan?"

"Not exactly, they were essentially the only thing I could find two years ago, Ron, Harry and I were hiding out for most of that year you know, but we usually just ate Muggle food, we always paid but discreetly, and did you know Harry's cloak - "

Lew dropped to a squat abruptly, with a look. Hermione reflexively followed, heart racing.

"See, these are rabbit tracks, and over here, some deer."

Hermione pushed Lew, realizing she'd been had. Lew collapsed, laughing and scrambling halfheartedly away from Hermione's continued plummeling. "Here, here, over here's an eensy mushroom spore... here..." She offered her empty hands to Hermione, who redoubled her attacks.

Fury spent, Hermione rolled over to lay beside Lew, who was panting. She stared up at the morning sky, feeling suddenly at peace. Lew would somehow hunt for food, and she would spend her time conjuring shelter for what promised to be a very cold night.

Hermione hated to admit that while Lew was a decent cook with the materials at hand, those being a magical fire and some very battered, very thin pokers, her stomach was weak for anything she saw in its original form. The moment Lew swaggered into view, three fresh rabbits hanging from a string, Hermione knew she wouldn't have much of an appetite.

Lew was still apologizing as they pulled the thin blankets up to their chins, huddled under a small tarp. The warmth spell Hermione had cast on her own was woefully inadequate, but she'd never practiced conjuring a blanket except just once; even the NEWTs didn't anticipate wizards in situations like these.

And suddenly they were silent together, the sky a brilliant chorus, no opposing element interposing itself to muffle the ringing sound of the moon and stars. Was it only two nights ago she was facing down a harpy?

Lew shifted awkwardly, breaking the moment. Hermione's mind raced. "Tell me about school in America."

It was a question she'd been meaning to ask, but it sounded somehow inadequate now. How many years had Lew been out of school? Eight? Almost half of Hermione's lifetime? But she needed to break the silence.

She could almost hear Lew fumbling for words. "In terms of comparison with Hogwarts?"

"Well... yes, I guess. You said you left school when you were fifteen, why did you leave?"

"Money, pretty simply." Lew propped herself up on her elbow facing Hermione. "Hogwarts has scholarships and stuff. 'The Greatest Wizarding School in the world.'" Her voice was a little mocking, but the assessment was accurate. Hermione herself had only been able to attend without accruing debt because of the Muggleborn scholarships - Muggle cash was absolutely worthless, easily conjured by wizards.

Lew continued, "I guess it comes down to politics, in the end... America has fewer wizards, thus its Department of Magic is less influential, there's nothing like a London of America or anything, so there's just less money floating around in general. No economy, all the smart or rich wizards end up in Europe."

Hermione nodded. She already knew there were fewer wizards in America proportionately. Though she was Muggleborn, she accepted the fact that magic ran in families to a certain extent. She was personally a follower of the theory that fewer wizardly families ended up in America because wizards were notoriously hidebound and uninterested in immigration. The idea that wizards were afraid of Muggles due to the Salem witch trial catastrophe was laughable.

"Wasn't it a little early to leave, though?" she pressed.

"No way. Gringotts took me on just based on my OWLs."

"You have the same system of tests there?"

Lew shook her head. "You're not getting it. America's like a... like a desert as far as magical people go. We just have enough import-ees from Britian to keep our beasts in check. You saw how I had to deal with that nut-case six years ago; the Department of Magic specifically contacted me about keeping an eye on her, they're so short on help. A system of school-testing is hardly the only thing we stole from you guys."

Hermione soaked it in. "So how many schools are there?"

"Just the one. Academy of Alchemy, it's a fucking joke. Near Salt Lake City, which is another joke."

"No way. There have to be more... more Muggle-born than that, let alone..." Hermione had the figure of 300 million in her head - the population of the U.S. Even if a hundredth of one percent of the population was magical, that was still thirty thousand people. Seven years out of a seventy-year lifetime, so one-tenth of a person's life was spent in school. That was three thousand students, not a small school, much bigger than Hogwarts.

"I told you, the ones who can afford even a plane ticket over the ocean go somewhere else. Shit, I think South America has like three schools itself, they're all probably better than AA." Lew flashed a brilliant grin at her, and Hermione had the feeling she was missing something.

"Where are you from originally, then?" Hermione was distracted by the second reference to Lew's impoverished upbringing.

"New Orleans." She pronounced it "or-lens," emphasizing the "or."

"Seriously? The birthplace of jazz?"

"Yeas, m'am," Lew drawled. Then she smiled again, switching back to her normal voice. "You are the most worldly witch I've ever met, Miss Granger."

Hermione blushed, unduly flattered. Her mind flashed to "Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches," which she had found under Ron's bed at the Burrow accidentally. She was sure that "worldly" was nowhere in it, unless it was in the "No's" section. But from Lew it seemed the greatest compliment.

"Thanks," she said, shivering inadvertently. She felt Lew notice, almost comment, and then revise her comment.

"Shit, you were just out the other night in the freezing cold too." She pulled off her own blanket. "You should have this thing too, if I get cold I can just shift."

By "shift" Hermione understood her to mean "shape-shift." She was still trying to work out which phrases were American and which Lew's unique dialect. This one she suspected was homegrown Lew.

Nervousness surged through her. "I think... they're big enough for both of us," she offered. Lew paused in arranging her blanket on top of Hermione's. Everything Hermione thought to say seemed either too pitiful or else entirely unnecessary, so for once in her life she bit her tongue and waited.

Lew shook her head slowly. "I hate to break this to you, but I'm a lesbian. I'm not actually that comfortable -"

The world narrowed a bit more. "That has nothing to do with it," she whispered.

Lew considered this. "If you insist," she said softly, but she didn't move. Hermione's vision, and most of her extremities, were throbbing in time with her heartbeat. "Are you sure?"

Hermione realized that she hadn't been breathing. "Yes," she gasped. And Lew finally lifted the blankets and slipped under them, carefully avoiding touching Hermione at all.

A sea of calm fell over Hermione. Her simple desperation to actualize this moment faded into numb satisfaction. Rather than intensifying, the tumult of physical difficulties stilled with Lew's closeness, with her acquiescence. Her head was swimming, but she wrote that off to near-asphyxiation. She also pushed aside any thoughts about this new revelation, except to simply thank the patron saint of "My Friend Wasn't With An Asshole." Lew deserved better than the Dark wizard she'd spoken of last week.

In this warm cocoon, sleep found Hermione quickly.


	5. Chapter 5

_I hadn't realized it, but after I broke up with Ron the barriers I had unconsciously constructed fell, and I found myself truly able to just appreciate her presence, the sound of her voice, the subtleties of her body's communication. I tuned into her like a radio, and my heart thrummed to her beat. I finally stopped rejecting my reactions to her, and when I did that the fear fell away, and I began to trust her. I had eyes only for her. It's too bad we had only a few days._

* * *

Her raven's wings beat gracefully, and she soared much higher than true ravens dared or wished to. The landscape was vague beneath her, but that made no difference; all she needed to find was civilization of any kind.

'There's no point in staying around, Mio,' the raven thought to itself. 'This will take a while.'

'Where are we?' Hermione thought, ignoring Lew's discouragement.

'The middle of nowhere, who cares?'

'This isn't England, or probably anywhere in Europe. I don't recognize any of the plants here.'

'And not in North America either. We went over this.' Hermione was surprised that Lew's thoughts betrayed no impatience; she was calm and focused, utterly unruffled. Hermione tried to bite down her reactive irritation.

'Yes, but... this is important.'

Lew was silent. It'd been four days, and they'd been practicing a "sharing consciousness" technique and using Lew's raven form to scout. This was the farthest she'd gone so far, and Hermione could feel fatigue setting into Lew's arm/wings, but the more Lew roamed the more puzzled they got; there were no people at all, even 100 miles away from where they had been dropped. No highways, no rivers, not even dirt roads that Lew could see.

Hermione entertained the thought that she'd prefer to have Lew back with her, or at least where her body was, rather than flying around in what looked like a useless exercise. Sometimes friendship is hurt by isolation, but theirs had grown even deeper. Hermione began missing Lew almost immediately after they parted. It was like they were gears made to fit each other.

There were parts of her that wanted to just sit and listen to Lew talk for hours. At the same time, she had an incredible desire to talk to Lew, because when she did, she felt her world changing. Lew understood everything in a very different way, and this new perspective occasionally frightened Hermione with its darkness. Reevaluation became a habit, and as each challenged the other's understanding, their worlds became wider, and intertwined.

Lew also understood her very differently than anybody else had. Her self-image had always been based on what others thought they saw in her. Yet when Lew looked at her, she saw something very different. Hermione realized that part of the difference lay in the fact that Lew understood her absent of her intelligence. What was it that Professor Lupin parted ways with her saying? "You're the cleverest witch of your age I've ever met." Certainly none of her friends had ever forgotten that Hermione was quicker than them; with the fate of the world crushing Harry, he couldn't afford to ignore it. Ron challenged her intelligence, but ineptly.

Lew took it for granted that they were on an equal footing. Hermione knew that the world would probably be a much darker place had she never befriended the Boy Who Lived, that it was often her intelligence that saved Harry, and thereby the rest of the world. Perhaps Lew did too, but it was obvious that she'd met plenty of other people who had just as vital a role in Voldemort's defeat. Lew treated her like Lew treated everyone, and somehow that was incredibly freeing. It gave her the space to define herself in different ways.

'Mio, maybe I should just go back there. I don't see a goddamn thing.'

Hermione smiled to herself. 'How much of that could you hear?'

'A word here and there. It's just a little weird.'

'Yeah. Well, we still don't know where we are.'

'This isn't helping us figure it out, though. And I'd like to be back there.' Hermoine wondered if she was imagining the thread of deep emotion in Lew's voice. Was her raven form even capable of that sort of emotion?

She certainly wasn't trying to conceal any of her feelings when she said, 'Then come.'

But when Lew returned, she barely looked at Hermione. They had conjured cloth and sewn it into bags, and Lew packed hers briskly. Hermione followed suit, not speaking either, but wondering why when Lew was far away, she felt so much closer. Lew shot a quick look at Hermione, who nodded her readiness, and then she started out across the desolate plains.

Hermione was content to trail her. She watched Lew's boots kick up dust. Everything Lew did was crisp. Her step was almost military. They walked fifteen miles a day, a distance that would have been unthinkable when Hermione was with Harry two years ago. Fifteen miles a day would bring them to a city eventually. They had food. They would make it.

Hermione let the words sink into a rhythm, following Lew's steps. _We have food. We will make it._ Without thinking she fell into pace with Lew. It was still a few more long moments before Lew spoke.

"You just did it, then. Could you feel it?"

"What, Lew?" Hermione snapped, and then she regretted it. She shouldn't try to cow Lew. Lew was talking. It wasn't her fault Hermione was frustrated by its infrequency.

Lew paused. Her normally inexpressive face fell into an expression of discontent. "You cast without your wand," she said finally.

Hermione cast a glance behind them. They had just crested a ridge, unnoticed by Hermione. "I don't cast wandless," she said.

"Why did they make you work without wands?" Lew shook her head, frustrated. "They should tell you."

It was true, of course. "We're not superhumans."

"No. You're a mage." Lew glanced sidelong at Hermione. "You have power over your own body. Of course. They should tell you what you're channelling. What do they get from concealing that?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. Was it true? This wasn't something they covered at Hogwarts. "Is this what you meant when you said you could teach the physical section?"

"No. They just don't care about the Order."

"The Order… of the Phoenix?"

"We were basically outlaws."

Lew was part of the Order? Hermione had never seen her at Grimmauld. "The Order's members have been celebrated."

"Only for what they did."

"Isn't that expected?"

"Sure." But then, what had Lew done? Hermione held her questions. Lew was too private to press her on this now.

* * *

It was the eighth day when Hermione finally realized where they were. It was dusk, and Lew was crouched over their fire. Hermione was pretending to break the firewood apart, with the aid of one of Mrs. Weasley's spells and her wand. She admitted to herself that she spent more time watching Lew's shoulders ripple as she manipulated the meat on the spit than actually breaking the wood. She loved the way the fire caught Lew's face in relief, and the tank top that Lew had chosen to sleep in. After all, the wood didn't need to be wood _chips_...

Lew looked up, catching her in the act. A rare smile lit her face, and Hermione looked down, blushing. "What are you thinking?" Lew asked.

"About you," Hermione admitted, moving to sit on the log they'd been using as a bench, trusting the darkness to cover her deepening blush. "What did you do for the Order? Or is that classified or something?"

Lew's face fell, and then she focused on the fire, narrowing her eyes. Hermione had known that this was going to be a hard conversation, but she'd planned to set it up more. The question had slipped out, and she suddenly regretted it. What was she covering up for, anyway? Maybe her fascination was something she wanted Lew to know.

"You know what? Never mind," she said, trying to backpedal. "I'm sorry for bringing it up."

Lew shrugged, her movement seeming stilted. "I watched the prison of Azkaban from afar. We predicted that there would be a breakout soon, and the Ministry refused to increase security, so that was a task for the less trustworthy of us. It was particuarly suited to me, considering my experience on the sea and the fact that I'm an Animagus, so they liked to put me on that duty. Even Dumbledore didn't predict the dementors switching sides en masse. I was there when it happened."

Hermione shuddered. "That must have been horrible."

Lew nodded slowly. "I failed," she said simply. "I waited too long to be sure that something was happening, and the dementors caught me. Likely the only reason I'm not dead is the Kiss can't be performed on an Animagus in animal form."

Hermione was speechless. She tried to imagine what had happened to Lew, and finding the image too horrific, she then tried to forget it. Every noise of sympathy that came to mind seemed utterly inadequate. Finally she went onto her knees and touched Lew's hand where it rested on her leg, and Lew turned up her hand into Hermione's. Taking that as permission, Hermione moved closer and put her arms around her, slipping her body up against Lew's and putting her cheek against Lew's collarbone. Lew's arm came around Hermione's shoulders, and Hermione relaxed into her, mind still overwhelmed by Lew's story.

After a minute she shuddered. "Did the Order find you?"

Lew's breath caught. "They came for me eventually," she said, and Hermione wondered if she was avoiding something. It seemed deliberately vague.

She pulled away, disentangling to look Lew in the eye. Lew avoided her gaze. "But the Death Eaters found you first," Hermione finished for her, and Lew nodded silently.

It was too much. Hermione bit back a sob, and Lew leaned forward, taking her into her arms again, rubbing her back in small circles. Lew spoke. "I haven't really told anybody about this, anybody who didn't already know. I'm glad you asked." Hermione could feel her shake her head. "I want you to know everything about me."

Hermione composed herself, pulling out of Lew's embrace a little only to settle down against her side. "Thank you for telling me," she said, and then turning her head, she searched Lew's face. "You know you can trust me, right?"

Lew looked at her back, and eventually she shook her head. "Yes, I do, but I don't know why. You're such a good person..." Her lip quirked. "I guess nobody as good as you has ever given me the time of day before this. It seems like you actually care."

Hermione huffed at that. "Of course I care!" she protested.

Lew pulled away a little. "But why?" she said suddenly, and the question hung in the air for a beat too long.

"You're a good person too, Lew," Hermione deflected.

Lew snorted. "You're possibly one of two people who've ever said those words to me," she said. "The other one quickly learned otherwise."

"You joined the Order, and now you're training to be an Auror. Maybe your... methods are not... totally scrupulous, but your motives..."

"I joined the Order because Gringotts closed all their foreign positions and I had nowhere else to go, Hermione."

"That is the flimsiest excuse I've ever heard," Hermione said fiercely, and stood. "As if you were forced to join an underground movement opposing the rise of a Dark Lord five thousand miles away. You can insist that you're - not good, but I won't believe it until I see it. If you were, you should have joined Voldemort, but you didn't."

"I'm just trying to warn you," Lew said. "You're..." and there she stopped, eyes searching the fire again. "You're too kind to me, when you have no reason to be."

Hermione shook her head furiously, but could conjure no counterargument. Perhaps Hermione had been imagining virtue where there was little to be found, blinded by Lew's beauty. For a moment she almost entertained the possibility. Lew was clearly troubled, but she had done nothing that warranted suspicion, and her personality was as appealing to Hermione as her looks. Lew had never treated her with anything but respect.

And Lew so clearly needed somebody. "I have every reason to be kind to you, Lew."

Lew looked up at her and something raw flickered behind her eyes. "You need to stop looking at me like that," she said, standing and touching Hermione's hand.

"Like what?" Hermione said, turning into her.

Lew brought up her other hand to cup Hermione's face, turning it up to hers. And then her lips touched Hermione's and the world fell away.

It was barely a brush, but Hermione didn't let Lew escape, moving forward into the touch and parting her lips slightly. When they finally broke apart, Hermione's head was spinning. Lew gripped her neck tightly, resting her temple against Hermione's, her breath in Hermione's ear. "Like you're eating me with your eyes," she said, and it was a moment before Hermione remembered what Lew was talking about.

Hermione was slightly alarmed. "I do not look like that," she protested.

"And for the last two months I've been trying to work out why you would look at me like that," Lew went on. "Because it drives me absolutely mad."

Hermione felt her own fingers clench at the last hissing word in her ear, and her left hand slid around Lew's back, bringing their bodies together. "You're so beautiful, Lew," Hermione said. "I can't help but look at you."

"And lay next to me every night so innocently? That too?"

Hermione heard the note of accusation in Lew's voice. "I - I don't know," she said, drawing back and letting her hands drop to her sides. She looked up at Lew helplessly.

Lew's frown cleared. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have -"

"No, you're right. I guess I just didn't realize," Hermione said, rattled. She felt lost in a whirlwind of emotions. Lew had kissed her. And then in a roundabout way, Lew told her... that she wanted her, wanted her body. Right after telling her that she shouldn't think so highly of Lew. It was all too fast. "Can I just... have a moment?"

Without waiting for a response, Hermione turned away from the fire, walking into the darkness. But the darkness had been waiting for her.

The next moment, there was only pain and a heaving, huge, furry body scrambling off hers to face Lew. She had a vague impression of Lew spinning, sword - sword? - in hand. Then there was nothing but waves of pain, breaking over her body in pulsing poisonous tides that centered around her midsection. It was fever, it was delirium, but she could hear Lew scream above the pain, and sudden panic brought back her sight to see Lew standing, one leg in the fire and her sword, hands, and eyes afire.

The wolf was crouched between them. 'Impedimenta,' Hermione thought.

" _Impedimenta_!" she said with all the strength left in her body, raising her wand.

The wolf froze, and Hermione couldn't see anymore, couldn't breathe, couldn't hear. Hot hands grasped her roughly, then more gently. Soft mumbling came through the haze of torturous pain.

She gasped as her wound was touched, but that wasn't the pain. The pain was in her veins, pumping with every beat of her heart to her every extremity. She forced herself to speak, knowing that it was barely a whisper. "The Fang Weirder of Northern China. Blood-poison, bound to the magic of its fang. Magic... Incantation... _Belle efferscenta nervosa_. Cut my toes open and pull the poison out."

She transcended speech into another state of awareness. As her body lost each sense, she felt them wholy, distinctly, but for only a few short seconds. The scent of the fire, of blood, of matted fur, of unwashed human in warm perfection tinged with terror. Lew cursing, the wolf moaning its dying breath, the fire crackling, a knife being drawn. Lew crouched over her, blood staining her shirt, the fire casting her face in an agonized shadow before a single, deft cut.

Lew was chanting. Hermione's body was numb, but distinctly alive. She dared not move, knowing that movement would be intensely painful. She began to be aware of feather touches on her clothes, working their way down her body, pushing the poison out. She struggled to maintain consciousness; Lew's job would be much harder if she passed out. Her muscles painfully cramped in succession, and Hermione recognized this as a good sign although it felt like her body was trying to hurt her now. She could move.

Suddenly her body was taken up, and she heard her own pained moan as if it was somebody else. Every part of her body that moved felt like it had been dunked in hot oil. She was set back down again, and Lew said something indistinctly.

She passed out.


	6. Chapter 6

_I knew that I wanted to hold her, that I wanted to stroke those perfect arms and feel her body against mine, to tangle my fingers in her hair. The feeling that her lips ignited in me was my first indication that I also wanted desperately for her to touch me, to take me and wrack my body with our shared passion. Sometimes I wonder if she would have been more open with me if we had in fact slept together on the Chinese plains, if I had slipped my hand under her shirt and stroked her stomach, breathed in her ear and kissed her neck on that first night, on any of those nights. If our first time was something simple and beautiful, a memory I could cherish, rather than regret._

* * *

Hermione woke with a pounding sensation in her skull and the distinct feeling she'd forgotten something important. The room she was in had a pleasant, rustic woody smell, and she recognized lavender in the air. There was a cauldron boiling over the fire at her feet, and it contributed to the air's moisture, fogging the windows.

She tried to sit up, gasping in pain and collapsing back into the bed. The pieces clicked together - this was the healer's cabin, she was in the Auror headquarters, and... Lew. The desert, the attack, her fever, the answer to the puzzle.

"Northern Chinese plains," she said out loud, just to make sure. Had they succeeded at their task, or had Hermione been pulled out to save her life? Where was Lew? Had she been injured in the attack, too? What was that flaming sword?

And then she remembered the fevered dreams and her heart skipped a beat. She had never had such vivid dreams before. Could she look Lew in the eyes again? It was easy enough to pretend that Hermione liked Lew's masculinity and was attracted to her personality. But that wasn't the whole truth. Loving Lew required her to conveniently overlook nothing. She loved Lew's serene, effortless beauty. She loved her body's slim, compact grace, and her thin feminine fingers, and the subtle movements that composed Lew's walking. She loved the expressions in her voice and her detailed understanding of the politics in every room as well as her ambition, her raw power, and her shamelessness. Her femininity was as much a part of Lew as her boyishness, and Hermione's heart yearned for Lew so much that it almost hurt.

Hermione waited for a half hour, and twice more she tried to rise and dared not. Finally Finnigan the healer entered the cabin, his eyebrows shooting up at the sight of her.

"Why Hermione! You're awake!"

Hermione mustered a friendly smile. "Happily so." She bit her tongue to keep down the questions.

Finnigan bustled over to the pot, and then shook his head, clucking. "Are you hungry? Of course you're hungry, dear. I will go fetch you some stew immediately," he said, spinning away and slamming the door behind him, drowning Hermione's protests.

Now that he was gone, Hermione realized she really was hungry, after all. It felt like her stomach was eating away her insides. She sighed and wiggled her toes, wondering why they felt so stiff and swollen. If she looked at them, she wouldn't be surprised if they were black. She pushed away the thought and began categorizing her questions.

Luckily, with the broth in hand Finnigan was far more attentive. He propped her up on pillows and insisted on hand-feeding her, but between sips he answered her questions.

The first, the most important, had the most dreadful answer of them all.

"Lucy? I haven't heard specifics, but I believe she has dropped out of the training. Yes, yes, directly after you returned."

"No, you certainly passed the test. So did she, of course, but I suppose she decided she wasn't interested in what we had to offer."

"Yes, there are the vows. I'm not entirely sure how she broke them, but she took a portkey and then Apparated, nobody knows where. Wanted? Yes, I suppose she is wanted. But to be sure, the Aurors have far bigger problems than a dropout. She is in no danger."

"To my understanding, Lucy doesn't spend much time in the Wizarding world anyway. If she walks into Gringott's, certainly she will not be walking back out again. But in the Americas, they don't care. Neither would they care in the Alps."

"You have been unconscious for nearly two weeks now. But there is far better news for you! Just wait a moment, I should inform the Council, but I believe Regin has something to tell you."

More tests? Hermione considered the thought dully for a moment, and then decided she didn't care in the slightest. Lew was gone. Her world had been turned upside down and emptied.

Regin wasn't visiting to tell her what the next phase of training was. He was visiting to let her know that she, Harry, and Jonah were graduated. Proper Aurors. He apologized for holding the ceremony without her, but promised that the moment she was healed they would be glad to set her on a mission, with an actual partner, of course. He also apologized for allowing Lew in the program at all, and then left.

It was a long week of recovery.

* * *

She was partnered with a balding Austrian man who seemed to be trying to make up for his hair loss by way of a bushy mustache. Jeremy was a Inferi specialist, but his everyday work involved a combination of fast letter-reading, faster transportation spells, and then slow plodding through invariably soggy hinterlands. During the return of the dark arts over the last two years, there had been a large proliferation of zombies, and with the death or abandonment of their masters they were left to wander, terrorizing sheep and other critters of similar disinterest to Hermione.

She'd tried to focus on his instructions, articulated in a dialect that was none the more understandable for its volume. But at night, after he'd set up his tent and disappeared into it, she poked at the fire and mentally screamed. Maybe those countless hours of training hadn't counted for anything, after all. Maybe Lew didn't hear her, couldn't hear her because of her weakness. Or maybe Lew didn't respond for other reasons.

'I'm here,' came Lew's voice through the darkness, so close that Hermione looked over her shoulder.

'Where are you?' Hermione asked desperately.

'Far away,' Lew responded. 'There's something I need to do.'

'How dare you leave me?' Hermione said, temper flaring.

'If I only do one thing in my life, I want it to be this,' Lew said after a pause.

'Then let me help you,' and this she said with all the yearning in her, all the unspoken connection and need.

'I can't let you throw away what you've been working for all this time.'

If this had been a vocal conversation, Hermione would have said something else. But since this was in her mind, she had already told Lew before she'd finished the thought herself. 'I'd rather have you.'

And unexpectedly, just as she felt the panic swelling in her chest, she felt the warmest gratefulness, the sweetest feeling she'd ever felt, coming through from Lew. 'You're the only person I have trusted with myself, and I trust you still. If there's anything you can do to help me, I will tell you, I promise. But please, for me, stay in the program.'

'Don't take any risks,' Hermione said.

She could feel Lew smile. 'You know, frolicking through candy ice cream fields is actually quite dangerous, but I will step lightly for you.'

'You won't tell me what you're doing at all?'

'One day,' Lew promised, and was gone.

But right as Hermione was settling down to sleep, Lew whispered through the night, possibly over thousands of miles, 'Goodnight.' She felt a presence behind her in the bedroll, a body breathing beside her, a hand resting on her hip, and she started and turned over. But there was nothing there. Her heart dipped in despair, and she felt such longing that it almost suffocated her.

The next morning dawn broke as it always did, but her heart was much lighter, and she even smiled at Jeremy as she packed up her things. Just as she had hoped, that night after Jeremy had gone to sleep and she was poking at the embers of the fire, Lew spoke to her again. 'I'm sending you something soon. Will you wear it?'

Hermione felt the grin spread over her face. 'I would love to. What is it?'

'Not telling,' Lew said teasingly.

'Well, can I send something to you, then?' Hermione retorted, knowing full well that Lew was Untraceable.

'You can try,' Lew said, and Hermione could feel Lew's breath in her ear, her breasts pressing soft against her shoulder blades, and Hermione's chest filled with sweet cotton that quickly evaporated into empty frustration as the phantom touch left her.

Indeed, the next day she received an owl with a small package. It contained a slim ring that fit her perfectly. She couldn't help but run a few diagnostics over it, which picked up some very powerful charms on the ring. But she trusted Lew and did not pry closer, although that night she inquired closely over the purpose of the ring.

'Can't I send my sweetheart something?' Lew said innocently, and the word mollified Hermione.

She often wondered why the Aurors so suddenly ejected she, Harry, and Jonah from the training program, especially since her own task was so mundane. If there had been a spike in Dark Magic, it would be understandable, but to Hermione's knowledge there hadn't been one. When Harry wrote, it seemed that his work with Mercy was similarly uneventful, although Hermione recognized that their standards were somewhat atypical. He was currently in China, and he and Mercy had an uneasy understanding between them - Harry had talked to her about Ginny, and so Mercy backed off. Mercy, it developed, had spent half the Second Wizarding War under Imperius in South America, collecting an army that had never actually come to bear before Voldemort's defeat. She was fanatically devoted to Harry, but Hermione knew the Boy Who Lived's loyalty and she was no longer concerned about his faithfulness to Ginny.

As for Ron, Hermione gathered from Harry's letters that he was progressing through physical training with minimal difficulty. Unspoken but clear was the fact that he was taking full advantage of the effects of his fame on gullible women. The story was spilled in an article by the Daily Prophet, written by one "Sita Reeter." After she'd busied herself writing a threatening letter to the slimy journalist, she enjoyed a moment of mirth over the subject. It wasn't that the article was inappropriate, but it seemed that Rita still needed to learn her place.

Hermione amused herself by writing a few articles of her own for the back pages of the Daily Prophet, and soon she earned a weekly column entitled, "Little-known Facts that Might Save Your Life." She was perhaps unduly pleased by the column.

One day, as they were slogging through something that Jeremy referred to as "not a swamp," she heard a deep grunt and then a shout, and she spun to make out figures a hundred yards away in the gloom. They were clearly dueling, and then suddenly there was a muffled 'pop,' and the commotion ceased. She and Jeremy moved to the place, but by the time they got there the nature of the altercation was almost entirely consumed by the "not a swamp."

Hermione called to Lew, but received no answer, and for the first night in four weeks, Lew did not talk to her. But the next night she did, to Hermione's overwhelming relief, and she didn't miss a night after that, letting Hermione know she was alive, sometimes funny, interesting things she'd done or seen. Nothing that gave Hermione any clues, but oddly it was enough to hear Lew's voice. Over the ensuing month, Hermione became an expert not only on ghouls and zombies, but also bear/raven interactions, the everyday behaviors of eminent politicians, and minute details about the U.S. postal service. And nearly every night, as she went to sleep, she felt Lew beside her. It drove her quite nearly mad.

* * *

Bill could tell something was off before he crested the ridge along the path to Shell Cottage. The intruder alerts had long been neglected, but something of their magic still remained surrounding the cottage, and they made the hairs on the back of his neck stand stiff.

He loosened his wand in his wrist holster and approached cautiously, until he glimpsed his wife through the kitchen window and relaxed. She was smiling pleasantly, moving with sexy grace. He opened the door, saying, "Hey, Honey." But when he rounded the corner to the kitchen he stopped short.

Sitting at the table was a ghost from the past. "Lew," he said in surprise. He shook it off quickly, smiling and crossing the room, arm outstretched. "Wow, it's great to see you."

"You too, Bill," she said, but her gaze was reserved. Her grip was firm as always, and she made no move to stand, so he took a seat next to her. "Fleur's been catching me up. Private consulting, huh?"

He nodded. "I'm pretty satisfied with the hours and pay, and the work's interesting. Keeps me close to home, too," he said, winking at Fleur.

"Cool," Lew said. "You're so domestic, Bill."

He grinned back at her, noting with curiosity that she'd completely stopped bleaching her hair. "What have you been up to? Last I saw you was... what, three years ago?"

Fleur interjected. "She was training as an Auror, but you interrupted us before she explained," she pouted.

Lew turned to Bill. "You may not remember Jacob," she started.

"How could I forget? I remember meeting him in... California, actually. He became a Death Eater, right?"

She nodded uneasily. "He ended up being in charge of the prisoners of war in Azkaban, and when you broke in I assumed he had died. But," and there she paused. "Can I ask for your absolute confidence in this? Even if you choose not to help me." Her eyes flicked to Fleur, but her attention was on Bill.

He, too, looked to Fleur before pinning Lew in his gaze. The Lew he knew was elbow-deep in more projects than he could keep track of, but she'd expressed hesitation about her friend Jacob's methods in the past, and while she got into some trouble, he had never been disappointed by the slightly younger witch. She was a bundle of fun during their time at Gringotts. Things had clearly changed, but if she was coming to him for help, he did not intend to refuse her.

"We won't tell anyone what you tell us."

She nodded. "Thank you both," she said, and then continued, "Do you recall his fascination with Imperius and its derivatives?"

"Vaguely," Bill acknowledged.

"I've discovered that he has been controlling the mind of an influential Auror," Lew said, and paused for a moment. "He threatened Hermione Granger's life, using that Auror as a mouthpiece, and I... got a little carried away and killed him."

A shocked silence descended on the cabin. Finally Bill blew out a breath and asked, "You hid the body, of course?"

"Yes, but it won't stop him. The best solution is to trap all his victims in sleep, but I am not... confident..." And there she suddenly looked very vulnerable. "He can't kill Hermione, Bill."

Bill thought her priorities were a little odd. "You're wrong about the best solution. That would be to go after him directly."

"I can't find him. Which is weird. He's obsessed with taunting me. I think he has at least ten wizards under his power, and I'm sure he has at least a little political influence. Enough to expose my crime without implicating himself." She blew out a breath in exasperation. "I mean, everyone thinks he's dead, so how could he be implicated?"

"You've sure got yourself in a spot, Lew," Bill said, and couldn't help but smile a little. "I've missed you, my friend."

"I mean, if I could find him, obviously I would go and kill him. But he's stayed under the radar. I guess his puppets are enough, for now. And every moment, Hermione is in danger. Anybody could be his."

Bill held up a hand. "Hermione is a perfectly competent witch. I would be more concerned about the fate of whoever he sends after her. People under Imperius aren't known for their combat prowess."

"This isn't Imperius, Bill. He took over the Auror's body completely. I spoke to _him_."

"Oh," Bill said, flummoxed. "Well, that's the first step, then. We have to find out how he's doing this."

"Right," Lew said. "So I used the Hogwarts library." She pulled out a scroll, and Bill could feel magic wafting off the parchment. "I've got over thirty possibilities, but four that seem most likely."

They pored over the parchment until midnight, and Lew stayed the night in the same room Griphook had stayed last year.

Fleur wrapped herself around him when they finally made it into the bed, but after a long kiss she backed off and considered him silently. "What do you think?"

He shook his head and then shrugged. "I trust her, she's asked for help, and I - I owe her, Fleur."

"Will you put yourself in danger for her?" Fleur asked, tracing the scars on his face with a finger.

"Yes," he said, and she made a frustrated sound. "Fleur, she needs my help. She can't do this alone."

"She could find someone other than my Bill," Fleur complained, but he could sense her relenting. "Very well, but only if you're very good to me."

"Of course," Bill promised.

"I was just thinking about the first night I met her," Fleur went on, and Bill raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"And?"

"We could perhaps... see if she were amenable... I can take some wine out tomorrow night."

Bill laughed, but quickly stilled himself at the look she was giving him. "You like her," he said in surprise, utterly unoffended.

"So do you," she protested.

"As a friend," he said, and then sighed. "Sure, why not?"

Fleur gave him a wicked look and turned over in the bed, away from him. Once again he wondered whether Veela charm worked on lesbians.

* * *

The next morning, Lew had disappeared. Bill worked in his study while Fleur Floo'ed to her mother's. She had considered getting a job, but she wasn't extremely motivated in that direction, although she constantly complained about his income. Her mother was perhaps excessively sympathetic, but he supposed he'd signed up for this by marrying a witch with not only Veela heritage, but a wealthy French family. This particular aspect of his marriage was surprisingly frustrating to him.

What could Lew be doing? Perhaps she had stumbled upon a lead while she was sleeping, and had decided not to wake them. Lew was not extremely secretive, however, and he imagined that he would soon find out where she had gone - if she came back at all.

He remembered the last time he'd seen her. She'd been bundled in blankets on the bottom bunk of the twins' old beds at the Burrow, and she was solemn, withdrawn. He blamed himself for what had happened to her, and he'd told her, again and again. Even he hadn't believed that she could still be alive, but he'd been the one who put together the ragged group that broke her out, after eight months in the liberated prison of Azkaban.

But she'd simply said that he was not to blame. In fact, those were the only words she said at all - "You are not to blame, Bill." His mother had bustled him out, and when he had returned Lew was gone. He understood that Dumbledore had taken her under his wing, which was fine. But she was actively avoiding Bill. He'd sent her several letters, only to have them all returned, even the one he told his owl to leave at her feet. He concluded that she had made herself Untraceable, but it had eaten at him.

Clearly she blamed him, despite her words to the contrary. As she should; he was the one who, after much effort, persuaded her to join the Order. He remembered his exact words: "Come on, Lucy, it'll be a blast!" Using her given name always irritated her. She certainly didn't need to help them.

She had come to him this time because she knew he owed her. She was quite a piece of work.

At noon he stepped outside to have a cigarette. He was halfway through it when she showed up, coming upon him like a ghost. He wordlessly offered her a cigarette, which she accepted, and they sat in silence, watching the waves break.

Finally she said, "I decided to do a bit of an experiment with the body. There are traces of magic on it still. I'm fairly certain he's using an artifact, which narrows it all down. In any case, I've got a read on what it feels like. Wish I could show you but I don't know how."

Bill said, "Do you think you can find other victims?"

"I know I will be able to tell when I'm standing next to someone who has been possessed. Oh, and he can do Muggles, too." She rolled up an unwashed sleeve to show him a line of broken tissue along her arm. "They were using guns."

Bill raised his eyebrows, but said nothing for a time. "Sounds like a problem," he remarked finally.

"It would be. But an artifact... that's just sloppy."

"You're thinking of Merrill's Staff."

"Of course," she said.

"Normally that would require possession of the artifact in question."

"Normally," she acknowledged.

He rolled his eyes. "Great," he said, and left it at that, tossing his cigarette butt in the already half-full dish.

"Hermione's still at the Auror headquarters," Lew said. "I don't think he can get in there, but once she leaves..." She took a long puff, burning through almost an inch and holding it in for a few beats. "This ought to be weed," she remarked.

Bill shrugged in apology. "Why is he after her?"

Lew shook her head. "I told him I was going to kill him, and so he threatened the only thing he knows I care about."

Bill felt a laugh creep up as he quirked his eyebrow at her. "You can turn anyone, can't you? My brother won't be pleased."

She raised her middle finger. "It was _not_ my idea, so you know. And nothing's really happening. Jacob is just trying to gain some leverage. He knows I'm watching out for her, so I can't focus completely on him, which is clearly to his advantage."

"Where do you think he's hiding?"

"If I had to guess? Somewhere in America."

He shook his head. "This would be grossly easier if you hadn't murdered an Auror, Lew. You need to find his victims and confine them."

"Who even knows how long it takes him to take their bodies? Or how many he can control at one time? Likely he needs physical contact, so maybe he _is_ in Great Britain, since he so easily sent those Muggles to look after the body." She threw her cigarette into the dish. "I need a more reliable way of finding these people, and then I need to isolate them and kill them."

The tone of her voice startled him. He suddenly wondered exactly how involved this Jacob was in her torture. He saw now that she was absolutely bent on revenge. "Don't kill them, Lew," he said seriously. "Please. You'll only make your life more difficult."

"Bill, my life's already gone. I killed an Auror and skipped out on all my vows. I'm wanted by the Ministry. Haven't you read the papers?" She scowled. "You're going to say that I should turn myself in, but the Ministry will never acknowledge that he's active, and has infiltrated them. I think this is something I have to do, not the Aurors, not the Ministry."

"Tell you what," Bill said. "I'm going to get a full dozen of those handcuffs Muggles use, and then we'll charm them all to hell. You find his victims, confine them and write a note explaining what you're doing, and dump them at the Ministry's doorstep."

Lew considered this. "Alright, but you've got to help me."

They spent that day and the next charming handcuffs, and when Fleur returned she had a helpful insight. In France, a commonly practiced spying technique involved a crystal ball. Her mother happened to have a very good model, which she offered to Lew, along with a glass of wine. Lew barely sipped it, to Fleur's dismay, but that night Bill tried to do the work of two, which seemed to satisfy his wife.


	7. Chapter 7

It was not extremely difficult to set up alert wards around a particular area. But it developed that Hermione would be travelling quite a bit, which made their task much more difficult. The charms necessary would require intense preparation and a lot of time, and so couldn't be performed on Hermione without asking. It developed that Lew did not intend to speak to, or even see, Hermione. Bill cursed her for a bullheaded sick loverboy and Lew sneered at him, standing her ground.

So it was Fleur's idea that stuck. "Send her a ring. Enchant the ring," she said, as if it was the most obvious solution in the world. Which it sort of was.

Three days later, the ring was on its way, and Lew could stop fretting and sleeping outside Hermione's window in avian form. The ring worked like a charm.

As Lew fingered her identical copy, Fleur sighed. "It's so romantic," she said, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully she would stop giving Lew wine now.

Then they could focus completely on the problem of Jacob.

* * *

It was two weeks before they had a breakthrough. Bill had had to withdraw slightly to meet some commitments, but Fleur was still completely engaged, which meant that when Lew's ring burned red and hot to the touch, it was she who accompanied Lew. Lew used the transportation spell they built into the ring to find Hermione, and then she came back and Sidealong-ed Fleur to help.

It was midday, but it seemed like night because of the heavy canopy of trees. As Fleur moved to take a step, she found that her boots had sunk ankle-deep in slime; she couldn't hold back a disgusted sound, prompting Lew to glance backward at her. But Lew's attention quickly shifted, peering intently through the fog. Fleur looked too, but didn't see anything until Lew raised a finger, pointing into the distance. She finally made out two moving shapes, silent and walking with their sides to Lew and Fleur.

Fleur squinted. That certainly looked like the bushy mane of Hermione; she bit back a flare of distaste. The girl should really look after her appearance more. The man was short, almost the same height as Hermione, but made up for it in girth.

Lew shifted, raising her wand in apparent alarm. At first Fleur could not make out what the shapes were, bounding so low to the ground, but then she saw it. A huge pack of wolves, and a great bear of a man running with them, covered in animal pelts. They stalked Hermione and the fat man soundlessly, but just as quickly Lew raised her wand and said, "Impedimenta."

Apparently Lew had perfect aim, even from this distance, and Fleur shot her an appreciative look as the man fell like a sack of bones. But he was quickly on his feet, searching in the gloom. The wolves moved like an appendage of the man, starting to loop around, surrounding their master. A wolf-man, apparently. Perhaps Hermione had accidentally violated his territory, but just as likely, the man was an agent of this Jacob.

Lew seemed unburdened by the details, focusing intently. The wolves had found she and Fleur more quickly than their master and began loping toward them, and Fleur could not help but take a step back, wincing as her shoes sunk deep in the muck.

Lew muttered, " _Fauna Dominae_ ," and a few of the wolves stumbled before turning, snarling, on their own brethren. The wolf-man shouted, and the the same wolves fell to their haunches, yelping. Lew snarled under her breath and Fleur, not trusting her own powers of animal domination, resorted to the animal killing-curse, " _Avayda_."

And then Lew charged straight at the bear-man, muttering curses as she went, still retaining adequate control over the handful of wolves she had succeeded at dominating and ignoring the rest. The wolf-man threw a few curses at Lew, which she handily blocked, and then she was within striking distance. Dodging a sloppy slashing spell, she dove for the man, and they both Disapparated with a loud pop.

Fleur was surprised by the speed at which Lew had kidnapped the attacker, and it took a wolf pouncing on her to compel her into Apparating after Lew. She knew the place; they had chosen it beforehand - an abandoned mining facility, underground and virtually unknown.

Lew had already snapped the handcuffs on the man, and when Fleur appeared she turned to her, eyes flashing dangerously in the darkness. "Can you watch him? He should be completely immobilized."

"Yes, where are you -" But Lew had already Disapparated.

Fleur sat down on a nearby rock and looked at the wolf-man wearily. He looked unconscious, drooling onto the already-wet floor. She shuddered and cast a heating spell on herself, already feeling the bite in the air. She could hear a steady dripping in the distance, and a few heavier drops closer to her.

She drew her arms in and waited with increasing impatience. Lew was gone perhaps a half hour, and when she arrived Fleur stood up in indignation.

"I had to make sure he wasn't sending more of them," Lew said unapologetically. "Has he moved at all?"

"No," Fleur grumbled.

"Great," Lew grunted, and flipped the man on his back, unbuckling his belt and starting to go through his pouches. Finding nothing, she stripped off his shirt, too, making Fleur balk and turn away.

"Hah," Lew said triumphantly, and Fleur stole a glance to find her standing and examining something on a leather thong. She stepped closer, surprised to find a red gem in Lew's hand.

"This is it, the same as the one I found on Noff. When I went back, it was gone." But instead of a smile, Fleur saw the darkest look on Lew's face.

"This is good news, no?"

"The best news," Lew confirmed, and turned to spit on the wolf-man's body. "I suppose we should bring him to the Ministry now, before I do something stupid."

Fleur couldn't imagine what Lew had in mind. They attached a note and dropped the body off at the Ministry's doorstep. Two sharp cracks and they were back at Shell Cottage, Lew darkly brooding and Fleur happy to be done with the ordeal.

Lew went to work on it at once, disappearing into her room, and Fleur did not disturb her.

* * *

Bill awoke in the middle of the night, alert, for an unidentifiable reason. He picked up his wand, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and hearing Fleur shift in the bed next to him. The house was completely silent, so he walked to the front door. The master bedroom did not have a window that viewed the path to the cottage.

And then suddenly the world exploded in a flurry of glass and fire. Only his years in Egypt saved him as he threw up a Shielding Charm, cowering away from the inferno that his house had become. His only thought was of Fleur, and he dashed back the way he had come, his feet scorching on the floor, and finally he was in the bedroom, and she was leaping towards him, wand in hand.

Together they blasted a hole in the closest wall and escaped into the open air. Bill threw up another Shielding Charm as they exited, and a few curses rebounded off it. The shield almost died, but Bill maintained it, putting his arm around Fleur as they dashed toward a small grove of trees.

But a moment later, Bill's shield died, and then Fleur collapsed into him, and it was all he could do to turn and face his attackers.

Freed from the obscuring shield, he was able to pick them out in the light of the fire: four men, one crouched low to the ground. He deflected a weak curse, and then the leftmost man screamed shrilly, flailing. He focused on the others, aiming a stunning hex at the one on the right, who immediately collapsed bonelessly.

The remaining attackers broke and ran, but even as Bill watched it looked like an elemental made of flame detached itself from the house and engulfed the second man to the left, throwing him to the ground. Bill looked closer - it was a woman, totally on fire, and she wielded a sword made of flame. The sword came down hard on the wizard on the ground, and he stilled.

Bill raised his wand defensively, but then the woman took out her wand and doused the consuming flames. "Come on," Lew's voice called. "Let's put out this fire."

He sagged in relief, and turned immediately to Fleur, checking her body for damage. He muttered, " _Ennervate_." When her eyes fluttered open, he kissed her on the forehead and said, "Wait here. We've got to put out the house."

For all its heat, it developed that the fire had in fact done very little damage to the tiny cottage, to Bill's surprise. Lew explained, "He was splitting his attention between all of them, so obviously the power of their spells was reduced. He may have brought a few allies, but they must not be very talented. He's more powerful if he can focus on just one; maybe he was counting on us running."

Bill was surprised at the businesslike tone Lew took on. "You brought them here," he said, discovering that he was irritated. He rubbed the seat of a kitchen chair, bringing up a fine layer of soot.

Lew frowned at him. "I didn't mean to, if that's your question."

"Okay, you're going to need to tell me what's going on," Bill said, and he sat down heavily on the chair, motioning for Lew to sit down too. He realized that he was still dressed in long underwear, noting that Lew was fully clothed. Not a hair on her head was singed. He'd never seen the likes of it.

"Yesterday Fleur and I intercepted an attack on Hermione, and before depositing the attacker at the Ministry I searched his body. I found this," and Lew pulled out a leather string with a tiny blue gem attached. "I think it's a focusing gem; it allows Jacob's artifact to - like - connect with the wearer more effectively. The attackers tonight have got to have their own gems. When I brought it to your house, I - I was not certain that the gem was even necessarily involved, let alone that it would allow him to track us here."

Bill raised an eyebrow at her. "Yet clearly it did."

"Yes," and Lew dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry, Bill."

"Fleur and I are now targets," Bill clarified.

"Apparently," Lew agreed. "But now he's discovered that he can't spook us out, and now we know that he is weak when he splits his attention between many hosts. I doubt he will try this again. He lost four men tonight, and he only brought five. Right?"

Bill saw Fleur appear from their bedroom, leaning against the doorframe and listening. He sighed grimly. "But what if he comes in the middle of the day, and only Fleur is here? What then?"

Lew shrugged helplessly. "You could try to loosen the barriers around Disapparation in and around the cottage?"

Bill scoffed and stood. Lew looked pleading. "Okay, so there's some good news, though."

"What's that?" Bill said wearily.

"I have a few of the gems now, and it shouldn't be difficult to find the rest."

"Don't you think that he knows that? He will make his hosts throw them away."

"It depends upon how important they are for maintaining control. If he risks losing control he'll be less likely to do it."

"Don't you think that's terribly sloppy? You said Jacob was intelligent, and yet he taunts you for no reason, and then each one of his puppets fall to you. And now you discover that they all have a focusing gem? If he could so easily be discovered, don't you think he would have been more cautious? How can you be sure this isn't a trap?"

Lew looked up at him, and he pushed away the guilt that her expression induced. "There's nothing I can do if I'm wrong, Bill," she said softly. "If it's a trap there's not much I can do to prepare myself against it. Maybe that's all he wants. For me to find him."

Bill walked into the bedroom. He saw Lew's eyes flicker to Fleur; she hadn't noticed her. "I've got a job tomorrow, and you better not take Fleur away with you again. In fact, Fleur, do you want to come with me tomorrow?"

Fleur gave him a hooded look. "After I finish moving all my valuables to my mother's," she said, and they closed the door on Lew.

* * *

Finally, one night, while Jeremy was out on the town and Hermione was staying in at the hotel, working on the manuscript for a new book, Lew whispered through their connection, 'Every night you ask me to come to you.'

'I do?' Hermione said, a little startled and definitely embarrassed.

'I figured you didn't know, but every time I say goodbye you say, "Come here."'

'I... sorry.'

'It's sweet. Why don't you open the window?'

Hermione did, and a crow flapped gently to land on the windowsill. 'Can I come in?'

Hermione's breath caught. "Absolutely," she said, and Lew jumped in, halfway through the fall morphing into her human body, coming fully into it in a crouch.

She looked up at Hermione through greasy locks of black hair, and Hermione took in her filthy, ragged clothing, her shaking hands. She knelt down and put her fingers on Lew's face, cupping it, reaching for Lew's hands with her other.

Their lips met briefly, softly, and then they paused, breathing each other's air, too close to look each other in the eye. And then Hermione gripped Lew's hand and kissed her hard, pushing her back against the wall under the windowsill, trying to pin her against the wall. It made no sense, but she was afraid that if she didn't hold onto her, Lew would disappear.

Lew responded in equal passion, letting Hermione press up against her, acquiescing to Hermione's dominance. And then Lew lunged forward and stood, bringing Hermione with her, picking her up seemingly almost by accident and setting her gently on the bed. Their kiss broke, and Hermione became suddenly aware of how good it felt for their bodies to be close, even as Lew released her. Lew's real, solid body was even more magnetic than her ghosting touches.

Hermione's heart was racing and her body felt alive like it had never felt before, but the look in Lew's eyes as she took a step back was frightening. She still looked like the crow in those eyes, though they were blue instead of black now.

"Are - are you tired, Lew? Do you want some food? I've just rung for some, and there's a shower..." She looked at her hands, still clutching Lew's ragged black jacket and the light blue hemp shirt underneath it, keeping Lew close.

Lew shook her head, and her eyes softened as she looked down at Hermione. "Do I smell?"

"Maybe a bit like feathers," Hermione said, and it was true, Lew smelled more like a bird than a human, or maybe a snake, a warm, reptilian smell. Lew always smelled like this.

Lew sat down on the bed next to Hermione, their shoulders almost touching, and then she was still, looking down at her fingers, loosely held in her lap. "Sorry to come to you like this."

Hermione turned slightly to Lew, studying her profile, her porcelain skin and perfect lips. She didn't want to be talking about food, or showering. She wanted to be touching, as much as possible, as soon as possible. She turned Lew's face with her hand, looking into her eyes. They were still soft and a little vulnerable, and so Hermione slipped her hand down onto Lew's neck and leaned over to kiss her again, inhaling her, delighting in her closeness.

Finally the kiss broke and Hermione whispered, "I just want to hold you forever." But that wasn't quite right, that wasn't really the feeling, completely. "I think I've fallen in love with you." That was right.

Lew looked shocked, and then some unreadable emotion flickered over her face and she turned her head.

So Hermione followed, putting her other hand on Lew's shirt and kissing her jaw, down to her neck and then tracing her collar down to the buttons. And then she unbuttoned the shirt and kissed that skin, too, slipping her hand around her back as she moved to straddle Lew, using her hand as leverage to pull Lew's body closer, her lips to hers.

She could feel Lew's jaw clenching in her hands, but Lew kissed her back, delicately, tentatively. She wasn't acting like she didn't want Hermione; it was something else. Maybe she was a prude. It wasn't unknown. She hadn't touched Hermione before this. Hermione kept unbuttoning Lew's shirt.

Lew broke the kiss, and seemed about to say something, but Hermione said, "Stop it." She slipped her hand inside the shirt along Lew's stomach, her other hand coming over Lew's shoulder and pushing the shirt slightly off her. Lew's skin was so soft, but with a distinct firmness, and Hermione's hand kept sliding down her body, feeling the curve Lew tried so hard to hide, between her hips and her ribs. It was so excellent Hermione couldn't restrain a smile.

Lew looked intensely back at her, and then she finally put her hands on her hips, sliding them under Hermione's sweater, pulling her lower body against hers. Hermione gasped as a liquid desire shot through her and center ached sharply, just as it did that night in the cabin so many months ago.

Somehow their lips found each other's, and Lew wasn't tentative anymore. The kiss was searing, almost frantic, and Hermione could feel her body rocking gently as Lew's hands pulled Hermione's hips closer, and then quickly stroked up and down Hermione's sides, pulling her in. Hermione let Lew's precious skin go, her hands ripping off her own sweater, and then the shirt underneath, and then unhooking her bra.

Lew moved just as Hermione finished with the bra, lifting her slightly up and then down onto the mattress, resting her stomach between her legs. Hermione arched eagerly into her touch. Lew's hand came over her breast easily, and Hermione growled softly in the back of her throat, pushing Lew's shirt away and touching her shoulders as her lips came over her breast.

She gasped and could think of nothing but Lew's tongue for a few long moments, and then she pushed Lew toward the wall and off her, turning in the bed to nibble at Lew's neck and rub her skin, finally succeeding at pushing the shirt completely off her shoulders. Lew's skin ripped under her touch, and suddenly it came to her that she was touching Lew, finally, and it was better than she could ever have imagined. She pushed up in the bed to kiss Lew, pressing her body softly against hers as she slid her hand up. She'd almost reached her bra when Lew pushed the hand away, redirecting it around her back and breaking the kiss, searching Hermione's eyes.

"I love you too," Lew said, and a small knot of tension in Hermione's chest eased. She realized that she had never doubted that Lew loved her - only whether she would say it. "I only want to touch you." Hermione frowned. What was the point of sleeping with Lew if she couldn't touch her body, the body that she'd fantasized about so many times? Why didn't Lew want her touch?

Her protest was muffled by Lew's lips on hers, though, and then her mind was wiped clean by her fingers. Lew slid back on top of her, and their skin moved so perfectly against the other's, it made a sweet sound. Hermione could have died from the elation, but didn't because in a flash of crystal clarity she realized that she needed Lew inside her, right now. But all Lew was doing was cupping her breasts, rolling her nipples, and Hermione arched into the touch, gasping, cursing Lew, finally unbuttoning her own pants. "Please, please then, touch me, I'm going to die," she said, and Lew looked at her, eyes dancing.

And then Lew pulled away, started taking off Hermione's pants, pulling from the ankles. When she finished, she started with the panties, so gently, and then she kissed her way up Hermione's leg and opened her up, licking her center, starting low and working her way up, and all Hermione could do for a few minutes was moan, feeling the light, soft touches on the outside, floating in pleasure, content for the moment. Lew bore down harder, and Hermione's leg twitched and her hips rocked forward.

Lew backed off with her tongue a little and then she slipped a finger inside, moaning into Hermione's soaking center and stopping with her tongue entirely. "Oh my god," Lew whispered, and then she slipped another finger inside, working deep and then pulling closer and harder, touching everywhere, her whole body engaged. Lew deep inside was more than Hermione's body could comprehend, almost shattering in the first moments, every stroke setting a new wave of devastation through her body. She had never imagined that it would be like this, impossible satisfaction, perfect fulfillment. "Oh fuck," Lew said again, and then she started with her tongue again, and Hermione could feel that it was all over, that any second now she would break. Lew's fingers had only given her a few deep strokes, but Hermione's body couldn't absorb any more than this.

And then she felt the magic start, an even warmer glowing perfection in Lew's fingers, and Lew was asking for permission, and Hermione was giving it, "Yes, yes, yes Lew yes," and her back arched and her body squeezed Lew's fingers, in rippling waves, and Lew burst into her. Hermione was vaguely aware of her body still spasming, Lew's hips grinding and then her pulling up, closer to Hermione's face, holding her, squeezing, saying, "I'm sorry, sorry, it's just for a moment, if this isn't what you wanted I'm sorry, I love you, I'm sorry."

And she was gone, suddenly standing, turning in place and disappearing with a crack.


	8. Chapter 8

The old man's eyes narrowed, his nose wrinkling at Lew. "You never know when the next little bird will come around, Lew," he said, and then scratched the back of his neck, the movement looking unnatural, stilted. And then Lew knew.

* * *

It was midnight and Lew hung desperately on the the cliffside of the tiny rocky island, the wind buffeting her frail body. The waves made it almost impossible to see anything. But she was watching intently. Something atypical was happening on the island of Azkaban. There were lights, and explosions. She told herself to wait two more minutes before she sent a Patronus to Dumbledore and the rest of the Order. She would have to transform, and she was not looking forward to it.

Suddenly the island was completely still, and just as suddenly there were five Dementors floating right next to her. She blacked out.

When she came to, she was strapped securely on to a plank in what appeared to be a stone cell. Her raven eyes could discern the traces of fluids on the walls, and the floor was packed so tightly with human excrement there was no way of knowing what was beneath it.

An hour passed, and then a man came into the room. Lew did not recognize him.

He said very clearly, "Morph back or we're eating you," and then he put his hand around Lew's neck and undid the strap around her.

She saw no advantages to being boiled at the time. It was very little time at all before she discovered that being a dead bird would have been far better than a live, tied-up, naked woman under suspicion of being a spy in the liberated prison of Azkaban.

It was a few days before her old childhood friend found her, though. She was almost delirious, but the world snapped into focus when she saw his face. "Jake," she said, and an irrational hope filled her. "Jake, please, make them stop, tell them..."

Jacob looked different now. His always-skinny body was now completely covered with tattoos, and he was missing several teeth. He leered at her. "You never know when you'll see the next little bird," he said, and it was ironic, so ironic that Lew laughed suddenly. When they were ten, morphing he into a ratty dog and she into a crow, it had meant that they should eat the fresh meat they found. When they were fourteen it meant they should fuck every girl they could get into. And now...

Now it meant that he was officially in charge of her interrogation.

* * *

Lew had gone straight to the healer's cabin after her encounter with Beable Noff. She scooted the chair closer to the bed and took Hermione's hand in hers, looking at her face and wishing, _wishing_ she would wake. Her heart trembled just to look at her, even though the healer said she'd stabilized, that it was only a matter of time. She couldn't say which she wanted more, to climb into that grand bed and plaster her body against Hermione's, or for Hermione's eyes to open right then. Hermione's gaze was so electrifying, gentle, discomfiting, soothing. Sometime in the few months that they had known each other, Hermione had become the center of Lew's universe, and Lew could not bring herself to pull away.

Perhaps it was because Hermione seemed to be responding in kind. It showed in the way Hermione had opened herself up to Lew, returning her kiss with even more enthusiasm that Lew had allowed herself. If Lew had not lashed out at her, for reasons that were not even clear to herself - if she had not, Lew was sure that Hermione would have continued clinging to her, petite body plastered to Lew's. It was not only admiration that Lew read in Hermione's eyes, or even lust; Hermione genuinely thought she was worthy of trust. She respected her, not as Dumbledore did, or even Bill; she trusted her with her deepest self. It made redemption seem almost within reach.

Finally she let herself consider the message that Beable Noff had given her. Either it was a message from Jacob, or Jacob was somehow possessing the old man. It was just so out of the blue... it was clearly a taunt.

She could pursue this, perhaps question Noff, or slip him truth potion. But that would mean threatening one of the most powerful Aurors, and therefore the entire system, and if she was unable to prove anything it would all be wasted. Her chance at Jacob would be wasted, and she might be subdued and sent to prison.

And then her heart suddenly chilled. Was it a threat? Her mind quickly flicked through the possibilities, and she realized that it must have been. A threat on Hermione's life. Was it so obvious how much she cared for Hermione? It was unsurprising that Jacob would go to such lengths. He was obsessed.

Somehow Jacob had invaded this Auror's mind, and was manipulating him, and thereby manipulating Lew as well. He had threatened the thing that Lew prized the most.

And now he would pay.

* * *

"You are Beabel Noff, are you not?"

"Yes, yes, of course I am!"

There was a sharp crack, and a hardening in Lew's heart, and then a pitiful half-whimper scream.

"You are Jacob!"

"I'm not!"

"Jacob is controlling you, fuckface, and you better not lie to me."

Finally Hermione could see, although she immediately wished she couldn't. A fat old man was strapped naked to a wooden contraption. Thunder rumbled through the sound of beating rain on tin rooftops, and when lightning flashed it showed the man caked in blood, covered in long serrations and bruised almost beyond recognition. But Hermione knew this man's name already. He was on the high council of Aurors, a man partially responsible for the actions of every single Auror employed by the Ministry of Magic.

"Who? I have no idea what you're talking about!" The man yelled, but it was far more desperate than convincing.

His dick hung pitifully between his legs, and Lew approached him, sneering. "Now get your master on the phone, or I'm cutting it off."

The man's eyes bulged, but he'd stopped talking. His eyes glazed, and then he snapped back. "I don't have a master! You're insane!"

And Lew raised the knife, almost theatrically.

Suddenly the man was sneering. His face transformed, suddenly regal, commanding, perhaps completely unhinged. "As if I would care."

"What have you done, Jacob? I thought you hit a new low joining the Dark Lord, but this is truly disgusting."

Hermione felt like she was falling, and then the scene solidified again as another band of lightning flashed into the shack.

"Like so many puppets. What you're missing is that everyone is a puppet. Even you. The people playing the game are the ones willing to grasp... power. It's a deadly game, though. When you stop being a puppet, you become a target."

"Are you afraid, Jacob?"

He laughed, snorted, coughed up some blood. "Oh yes. So afraid. Because with Dumbledore gone, the Ministry is looking really powerful right now."

"Because I'm going to come and kill you. First I will hunt down and kill every one of your little puppets. And with nothing left to be your eyes and ears, one dark night I will come and blow down your door."

"Is that so? You have such command over minds, you will find all my puppets. And you have such awareness of souls, you will be untarnished by looking at me, long enough to deal the finishing blow. Will you use that knife?"

"Power gets you off. I get that. Enjoy drowning."

And she cut the man's neck clean through, and decimated his body, as if it would hurt Jacob, as if it would wrest the power from his greedy hands.

* * *

Hermione saw Lew in a cottage - Shell Cottage, she realized in surprise. Lew was smoking a cigarette on the beach with, of all people, Bill Weasley. Fleur Delacour handed Lew a glass of wine and Lew's body was wracked by her Veela charm, which she steeled herself against, night after night, even when Bill left the room and Fleur draped her body over Lew's, looking at a parchment on the table.

And then she saw the wolf-man, the handcuffs, the gem, and Shell Cottage was on fire. Lew opened her body to the flame and conjured the sword again, except this time it was more intense than Lew had ever known it to be, and as the battle waned and Bill began berating her Hermione could feel the huge drain that the elemental magic had had on Lew. She knew that she was no longer welcome, and so with heavy limbs and a heavier heart she gathered her belongings and left Shell Cottage, dragging the bodies of the slain with her and Apparating them away, one by one.

She gathered each focusing gem, and after a few days in crow form her strength had returned enough that she could cast a rudimentary mapping charm. The power of the gems was great enough that they shone clearly through, and that night as Lew spoke to Hermione she stared at the pile of handcuffs Bill had helped her Charm, flickering in the firelight. It was Hermione's loving words that convinced her that truly she should use the handcuffs, although the easier solution would be to simply kill the puppets. Hermione had not given up on her. So perhaps there was hope.

But she made mistakes. Sometimes when she attacked Jacob's victims, he immediately Apparated in four or five of his pawns, and it was all she could do to kill as many as she could before escaping. She hadn't told Bill, but the only reason she was able to stand up against the force of Jacob's first assault was that he had used fire against her, which allowed her to channel that element - her most powerful ability, and one that she had kept a secret for years during her self-imposed isolation.

In the middle of the Atlantic, on a sandy isle, he sprung his last trap. Luckily by that time there were only a few left. She killed two and then Apparated away, but as she twisted a curse hit her and she spliced her foot completely off. She thought she would bleed to death in the forest, but it was twilight and Hermione's voice cut through the shock. It was all she could do to sound cool and self-possessed as she answered, and with Hermione still speaking, still listening, she managed to send a messenger Patronus to Bill and Fleur, and they had found her ten minutes later, bringing her home and nursing her back to health.

Neither apologized, and they certainly didn't ask about the details of her vendetta. But when Lew was coherent again, Fleur lingered in the room, asking only, "Is there hope?"

And Lew had nodded. "It's almost done," she had said. But the hardest was yet to come.

Lew left the Weasleys and set up her mapping charm, finding that the remaining six gems were all clustered somewhere in America. Likely Louisiana, and Lew cursed Jacob's lack of imagination. 'Of course he would go home,' she thought. She went to Hogwarts again, despite the danger; there were only two possibilities left on her original list, and she wanted to make sure.

After reading over each description twice, it was clear. Indeed Jacob was using an ancient artifact, an artifact that perfectly complemented his ability to track human souls, that allowed him to take control of those distant souls, even without physical contact. This was why Muggle slaves cropped up everywhere Lew went; and this was why he was able to spring his traps, even while Lew was roosting, away from any possible alternative source of information on her whereabouts. He had her scent, a perfect trace on her soul, and he was unshakable.

Lew concluded that the stones she had found were a personal twist on the artifact, a way of focusing its energy that Jacob had concocted himself. They seemed necessary for prolonged possession of those attuned to magic, although he could occasionally take over the weak-minded for a short time. Jacob did not have a large supply of the stones, and it was difficult to maintain control over a new host, which was why Lew was able to kill his minions faster than he could make them.

But Jacob's ability to track souls made him virtually untouchable. As she approached his lair, he would sense her coming from thousands of miles away. Which meant he would be prepared, and whatever defenses he'd constructed would be aimed straight at her.

There were two ways Lew knew to lose a soul. Only one was temporary. She hadn't heard of it being done for more than a minute at a time, but there's a first time for everything. The instructions said that it had to be accepted, that it had to be at the "peak of pleasure," and that it was almost impossible without trust.

Lew cursed fluently. She didn't want to fuck a whore, and she certainly didn't want to hurt any more innocent people. But she had to do this; she had to lose her soul somehow.

Lew searched the library again, and found no other option. Souls are hard to get rid of. Most wizards didn't want to.

Hermione could see Lew's plan. A Muggle bomb, the size of a child's torso. An invisibility spell to make sure his remaining puppets couldn't see her. Leave the bomb, clear out, detonate the bomb. Easy and clean.

Except for the whore.

It was awful to watch as Lew bought the Muggle and used her, but possibly more awful to watch Lew stumble out of the whorehouse, cursing. And then Lew tried again, and a third time. She paid exorbitant sums of Muggle money for a "whore who comes, goddamn it," and tried so hard that Hermione was almost offended.

And then Lew was crouched in an alleyway, cursing, tears dripping off her nose as she sobbed into the empty night. It had to be Hermione. She'd known it all along, but she'd hoped so hard.

If only it hadn't come to this. Although it would be a violation of trust, it wasn't really that bad, was it? If she explained what she was going to do - and then she cursed again. Hermione would never allow her to go into such a dangerous situation alone. She would insist on alerting the Aurors at the very least, and probably want to come herself - and alerting the Aurors would be disastrous. Hermione would be discredited, Lew would be arrested.

Lew's plan was so simple, so clean. Clearly Jacob did not expect her to be able to lose her soul, and Lew only knew about this technique because of morbid curiosity. Likely he would not imagine that it was even possible.

She couldn't tell Hermione. It really wasn't all that bad; it would probably be painful and difficult for Hermione, because she was sweet and good, but she would survive, and everything would go back to the way it was. Eventually, as long as she understood the situation, perhaps she could forgive Lew.

And so Lew made the choice between love and revenge.

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes. Lew's soul was burning, intolerable, painful, stifling. It weighed her down, pinning her to the bed, making her pant shallowly.

And then there was a knock at the door. It must be the food.

She'd already paid. Maybe she should go after Lew. If she couldn't find her with a soul, how could she find her without one? She could plunge into Lew's memories, figure out where exactly Lew had seen those crystals on the map, go there, maybe get caught up in a huge explosion, maybe see her love killed... what help would she be, anyway? She fought to stand, pulling on her discarded pants.

The knock came again, insistent.

She took her sweater up with leaden hands, and then there were two loud bangs and two holes appeared on the other side of the handle on the door. Hermione reached for her wand, and the door exploded inward.

A man jumped into the room, pointing a Muggle gun at her. His face blanked in surprise, and then he spun outward, his eyes searching the room as another man came in behind him. He closed the door, looking around it, and then went into the bathroom, still eerily silent, while his accomplice said, "Hey, Joe. I thought we were looking for a black-haired chick."

The second man looked Hermione up and down, and then thoughtfully considered the wand Hermione was clutching, his gun grasped casually, not pointed at her. Suddenly he started grinning, just as Joe came out of the bathroom. "Hah. I bet I know what you were doing with that -"

Joe fired his gun at the same time that Hermione spun out of the room, still holding her sweater. The shot hit her in the shoulder, and then she was in the cold woods, on her knees, falling, crushed by Lew's soul, trying desperately to stay conscious. Her vision was spotty, but everything was better on the ground. The world almost stopped spinning, and the ground took some of the weight off her shoulders.

Her shoulder. She brought her hand up to feel the other side, the back side. Sure enough, the shot had gone clean through, so there was that.

It was really painful, though. She started laying out some healing spells, knowing that you should never cast them on yourself but having no other option. The first was a ward against going into shock. The second sealed the wound, which would have been easier if she wasn't missing a good portion of sinew and flesh. One of the bones was chipped, too.

Those must have been Muggles. This Jacob was tracking Lew's soul, just as Lew had suspected. Hermione wondered again whether she should make the leap to help Lew. But then she remembered that the clump was certainly in North America, somewhere in the southeast corner of the U.S. The trip across the Atlantic was difficult in the best of conditions, nearly impossible without a Portkey. She would never make it.

Anyway, big help she'd be, not even able to fight off two Muggles, one of which was far more interested in the fact that she hadn't been wearing a shirt than killing her.

But she shouldn't stay here. She wondered why she'd come to the middle of the wilderness again, realizing it must have been instinct, built in that last year of fighting against Voldemort. Maybe this was the safest place she could be, where nobody was at all... She pulled on the sweater, but the weight of Lew's soul dragged her down almost immediately, and the pain from her shoulder made her vision dim. Without the danger, it was so much harder to focus her mind.

She heard a twig snap, and that brought her attention back. She looked around, and then got to her knees, visualizing a place, a place she might be safe... Where no Muggles would be...

The Leaky Cauldron's sign creaked in the wind. She stumbled, falling on her hands, and then she struggled back to her feet and pulled open the ponderous door.

Every patron looked at her as she made her way to the bar. She asked for a room, and then collapsed into unconsciousness.

* * *

"Hey," Lew said softly, shaking her.

"Lew," Hermione said, opening her mouth and breathing out, trying to get rid of the horrible weight, the horrible feeling...

Her mind snapped into focus. "Lew. How dare you!"

"I'm really, really sorry. But it worked, you know, and it's done now. I killed him." Her voice was flat, dead, and the words sounded rehearsed.

Hermione focused on Lew, and startled back. Her eyes - the pupils were so dilated the iris was almost gone. Completely inhuman. The crow's eyes. "You used me," she said, recovering.

Lew closed her eyes and buried her face in the crook of her elbow, putting her hand on Hermione's. "I'm sorry," and with her face covered and her voice muffled it almost sounded real.

The skin contact made the soul inside Hermione lurch toward Lew, but she knew there was only one way for Lew to get it out, and Hermione was boiling with hatred. She couldn't even speak anymore, the weight was so awful, so deadening and horrible.

"You can never be sorry enough," she managed, and grabbed Lew by the collar, looking into those crow eyes, pulling her in to kiss her. She grabbed Lew's pants by the belt and pulled her body on top of hers. The soul yearned for its owner, and Hermione's body responded to Lew's closeness even through the fury. She might never forgive her, but she would always want her; her body would always remember those hands, those lips, the smell and the perfection of her.

When Lew's fingers got to her breasts she was moaning and panting, and when Lew breathed, "I love you," into her ear, Hermione's whole body shook. "I love you," she said again, pushing down Hermione's gown and nuzzling Hermione's breast as her left hand slid up her thigh.

Lew licked Hermione's nipple, and her left hand came around to rest on Hermione's stomach, which would have seemed odd if Hermione had been able to think. As it was, she was arching into Lew's touch, and the weight of Lew's soul was no longer stifling, but freeing, invigorating; it made her body sing, and also ache all the way down to her core. She ached for Lew, and then Lew said, "I'm so sorry for doing this to you," and the fury came back, like a slap across her cheek.

Hermione pushed Lew's lips off her breast and guided Lew's left hand down, down and in. It was just a finger, but so deep it felt like it was penetrating everything Hermione was, and the weight was gone. Lew collapsed on her, still inside, and for a moment Hermione couldn't love her more, couldn't want her more, wanted to give up her body just to show her she was hers, that she didn't have to be strong anymore, she didn't have to fear the night.

She put her arms around her, and Lew moved inside her, and then they were fucking again, rocking close and slow and deep. Hermione worked Lew's shirt buttons apart, longing for her skin, while Lew moved and looked into her eyes, human again. Her thumb was softly moving above her clit and her fingers were simply divine, perfect. Hermione reached down again and pulled Lew out of her.

And Lew retreated, pulling back on her shirt, her eyes distant and alone. "Is there anything I can do to earn your forgiveness?" she said, looking out the window.

"You should have told me what you were asking."

"You would have said no."

"Exactly."

That stayed in the air for a few heartbeats, and then Hermione said, "You violated me the same way your friend violated those people. The way he violated you."

Lew swallowed and covered her face with her hands. "There was no other way."

"Your revenge was more important to you than I was. Well, now you have it. And you don't have me."

"Yeah," Lew said into her hands, and Hermione remembered the nightmares, wondered if she would find somebody to hold her through them. Lew whispered, "I thought maybe... I hoped that you would love me enough to forgive me."

It would be so easy. And she did, she loved Lew more than anything, more than breathing. She couldn't even imagine what it would be to have her every day, every moment. She would do almost anything for that.

"I couldn't respect myself if I forgave you."

But the pause must have given her hope, because Lew dropped her hands and looked back up at her. "If there's anything I can do, I'm yours, you know. I'll do anything."

Hermione frowned at her. "Give me a few months."

Lew nodded almost eagerly. "As much time as you need."

But she stayed there, looking like she needed to say something else. Finally she stopped rubbing her hands together and looked up.

"So the, um, if you're, I was thinking, planning, but it's completely your decision and my fault, and obviously you don't, but it's bad, and I'm sorry." Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Could you be any less coherent?"

"Here, I brought this," Lew tried to finish, sighing hugely, "and I'm gonna just leave now, and I really do love you and I'm sorry. You know I love you, and I'll do anything."

She set a tiny Muggle product, a cardboard box, on the bedside table. The morning-after pill.

The realization hit Hermione like a brick. 'I'm pregnant _.'_


	9. Chapter 9

'It makes sense, of course. There wouldn't just be some random spell that allows you to drop your soul into somebody by having sex with them. There is some other reason it exists. The reason is to allow two witches to conceive.'

Hermione's mind went through the motions of logic, leaving the rest of her behind in a state of shock. She numbly watched Lew walk to the window, open it, and step onto the small overhang, closing the window behind her. A few moments later, the sound of wings heralded her departure.

And still Hermione lay there, thinking without feeling. 'But her soul was in me for, well, maybe even five hours. It was midnight when she came to me, and it's now... the very early morning, just before dawn. What on earth would that do? What does that mean for our baby?'

Those words, even just in her mind, shook her. 'Our baby.' Hermione had thought about children, but she had expected to wait until she was at least in her mid-twenties. When she fell in love with Lew she had easily forgotten about the possibility completely, unable to imagine wanting anybody else's child.

But now that it seemed almost real, that she could be carrying Lew's baby, her heart clamped down on the idea. It didn't matter how angry she was at Lew, or how much it might change her life to have a baby in nine months. The idea of doing anything else was impossible.

Unluckily, her clarity of feeling in regards to the baby did not extend to her feelings about its other mother. She could imagine forgiving Lew for dumping her soul into Hermione without asking or even warning her - but independently deciding to conceive life inside someone else without permission? It was another level of violation.

Hermione couldn't decide if Lew was just dense, or actually insane. Of course, there was a third possibility: that Lew had taken advantage of Hermione's feelings for her. That Lew had lied about loving her. In any of those cases, there was no doubt in Hermione's mind that she had absolutely no interest in speaking to Lew for... well, sort of forever. She could not imagine a single thing Lew could do to redeem herself.

And yet Lew's face was strong in her memory, and she could still feel the ghost of Lew's fingers inside her. If there was anything that could make her fall out of love, it was absolute betrayal. Yet there could not be a greater betrayal, greater violation - and Hermione still trembled in remembering Lew's touch. She cursed her own weakness.

Someone knocked on her door, and she sat up, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Come in," she said. A pleasant-looking man opened the door, his face entirely ordinary. Hermione started, recognizing him. A member of the Auror High Council. She sat straighter. "Mr. Teague," she said. "How unexpected."

Dane Teague waved his hand, "No need for the formalities. I understand you've been in some distress."

"Yes, sir," she said.

"I apologize for that," he said, and Hermione believed him. "I'm not going to ask your motivations, but we found the body of Beable Noff."

Hermione schooled herself to keep her expression still. "Motivations, sir?"

He smiled at her mildly. "He was a known plant in the Auror Council, and I must simply thank you for the service. It would have been... I hesitate to say messier... but more complicated, certainly."

Hermione couldn't keep the confusion off her face.

"Though I must admit, I had hoped Ms. Cunningham would have stayed longer. It's she that I was truly seeking to speak with." He looked around with interest. "Or is she still here?"

"No," Hermione forced out, mind whirring, forgetting to lie. First Lew's vendetta against a former Death Eater, and the unexpected results of her spell, and now an Auror looking for Lew? There were too many pieces missing for her to figure out what was going on.

Dane smiled. "The Auror Council has dropped all charges against her, of course. In fact, I'm looking to take her under my wing, as it were."

"This seems very sudden," Hermione managed. "I - of course I haven't spoken with her since, well, more than three months ago."

"Very good," Dane said. "Well, if you would simply let her know that I am looking to speak with her, I will be on my way. If you took a look at today's Daily Prophet, you would find a note at the end exonerating her." With that, he took his leave.

Hermione lay for a long time trying to figure out what was going on. What was the connection between Dane Teague, Beable Noff, Lew, and this Jacob? Now that she considered it, it was indeed reasonable that the Aurors knew that Beable Noff was corrupt; if indeed he was an avatar of Jacob, it was reasonable to think that he might have attempted to sabotage the organization. But how could Dane Teague know that Lew was responsible for his murder? She shivered just thinking of the brutality of his death, let alone that Lew was responsible.

Perhaps Dane Teague knew of Jacob, and knew about Lew's... problem with Jacob, and thus made the logical leap.

Who was she kidding? It was all so improbable. Perhaps he was just fishing, but he claimed that they'd already printed something in the Daily Prophet forgiving Lew. That was not the move of an uncertain man.

She shook her head, and looked around for her clothes. They were clean, the bloodstains and tears all magically removed. Remembering, she put her hand up to her shoulder, feeling the tender skin. It barely hurt.

She thanked magical healing and pulled on her clothes, leaving a Galleon in the room, an exorbitant tip. She had her wand, but all her other possessions must be in the other hotel room. She took the steps slowly, testing her steadiness. Nobody looked at her as she made her way to the bar, buying a paper from the barkeep. Sure enough, at the end, one "Lucy Cunningham" had been "forgiven for all past trespasses upon magical law."

She sat reading the line over and over again until the words blurred and she realized she was crying again.

* * *

Lew turned the tiny vial around in her fingers, letting the silver-blue liquid roll from top to bottom, top to bottom. As an agent of the Order, she had been taught how to extract her own memories, storing them as a liquid. This was part of the reason they learned nothing from her, even after months of torture on the island of Azkaban; while on duty, she had extracted every strategically important memory she possessed. Not that she knew very much, as a recent recruit from Gringotts bank of questionable loyalty.

She remembered standing in Dumbledore's office, watching him take three memories from his great store, offering them to her with his one good hand. He said, "These are yours." She understood that no matter how much she didn't want them, she had to take them back. They were strategically important. Perhaps when he was gone, the Order would need them, too.

She'd turned away from him. "What if I don't want them back? What if I... don't want to fight anymore?"

His hand had dropped to his side, and he'd looked at her with understanding in his eyes. "I would say that is a wise decision. You've suffered too much for the Order already, far more than we would have ever asked from you."

"I can't just abandon you," Lew had said to him.

He had taken those vials and put them back in his collection. "Go, child," he'd said to her. "You have no duty to us."

And she'd gone, hating herself for it. She'd taken the carriage out, counting the sickles in her pocket. And then she'd Apparated to London, and from there taken a Portkey to New Orleans, the asshole of the world. There were plenty of crows in her hometown. She fit right in.

That was three years ago now. So much had changed. She brought the vial up to her eyes again, peering at the label, in her hand: "Do not view unless Jacob still lives." He was dead. Most likely. She had walked around the crevice, dug through the ashes of the hollow's once-verdant forest. She had found each and every remaining focusing gem, retrieved them from the slimy muck of flesh that remained of the victims' bodies. And she had counted the skulls. Seven. But she had not found the artifact. Had it been ripped to shreds or burned in the conflagration?

Jacob knew, by the end, that she understood the significance of the focusing gems. He had always been possessed of a low deviousness. But she had outsmarted him. Hadn't she? She had done something that most would consider impossible.

She turned the vial again in her hands. It was a very short memory. She simply hated not owning her own memory. It clearly wouldn't change her mind about killing him. And she had a clue - she knew that this memory explained why Jacob was so sloppy with the focusing gems, why he would go out of his way to taunt her. But she had made sure to rig a rush of memories with the contact of her soul and Hermione's, and this was one that she wanted to be sure that Hermione never saw.

She sighed and slipped it back into her bag, trusting herself. If she could let her love see the basest brutality Lew was capable of, the cruelest moments of Lew's life, but didn't want her to see this... it was clearly something that should stay hidden.

* * *

_November 8th, 1999,_

_This is the day I decided not to be complacent any longer. I thought that fighting dark magic was a worthy goal, but I have discovered that it means very little in practical terms at the moment. I am saving no lives as an Auror._

_At the same time, I know as a fact that I can make real change in the living standards of some witches and wizards in the magical community of Britain. I am aware that as part of the Golden Trio I am afforded privileges not given to others of my blood status. There are injustices I can no longer ignore._

_I was complacent partially because I did not personally feel the effects of this prejudice very often. But it's not just about me anymore._

_In order of feasibility balanced by importance, with least coming first, my goals are:_

_\- To encourage fuller integration between pure-blood neighborhoods and others, as well as better wealth distribution in the magical community (seems too broad; rework?)  
_ _\- To loosen saving and lending restrictions on half-bloods and the Muggleborn, and therefore distribute the "means of production." Problem is that wealthy families are the only investors, rather than banks, and wealthy families are all pure blood.  
_ _\- To modify tax laws that disadvantage said people.  
_ _\- To guarantee all those with a wand the right of full representation; the mix-ups in the polls in underprivileged areas is unacceptable, as is requiring identification documents often difficult for Muggleborn to acquire._

_Steps to undertake to achieve this goal:_

_\- Network with organizations with similar goals; they've been thinking about this longer, so ask them what I should do to help the most.  
_ _\- Likely the answer is capital, so come up with a capital-generating project (cell phones? space travel? a bank that actually invests?).  
_ _\- Get my hands on another Time-Turner.  
_ _\- Unofficially retire as an Auror (pregnancy leave is a good excuse) if/when this becomes full-time._

_I am ashamed that it's taken me this long. The time is ripe, because after the War pure-blood rhetoric is predictably looked upon with suspicion._

_What have I been wasting my time with?_

_I've been following in Harry's footsteps for far too long._


	10. Chapter 10

_I was so unbelievably angry I could have murdered her and only regretted it afterwards. But even as I rejected one great love, I had found a new one. I loved the baby with every ounce of my soul, just as I had loved its mother. Certainly I would not have loved anyone else's child half as much. But with the acceptance of what was truly a great burden all my priorities changed. I was dissatisfied by being an Auror. I turned my thoughts to what my child's life would look like, as the bastard offspring of two Muggleborn. The prospects did not look very good. So I, at nineteen, set my mind to changing the very social strata that supported the entire magical world._

* * *

Hermione Granger needed a library. She needed a library _yesterday_.

She Floo'ed the Headmistress's office three times, sticking her head into the green flames, before she caught Minerva. She immediately invited Hermione in, and Hermione complied, ducking back and soon reappearing full-length in the flames.

"Well, what a pleasant surprise," Minerva said, smiling in her grim way.

Hermione took a deep breath, trying not to appear flustered. "Professor, I have to ask you a few favors."

"How many times must I tell you, it's Minerva from now on," the older woman commanded. "And of course, within reason."

"Well," Hermione let out her breath. "Can I possibly ask to use your library?"

"Certainly."

"Another thing is, I haven't enough hours in the day anymore. Do you know if there are any more Time-Turners?"

"For an Auror, I can't see why not. Although I must warn you, there is a reason why professionals do not often use Time-Turners. Taking thirty hour days has more consequences than you might imagine, on one's sanity at the very least."

Hermione shrugged. "Might I get your sponsorship in my application for ownership?"

Minerva sighed heavily. "Hermione, please take a seat." Hermione did, sitting anxiously on the edge of the seat. "Are you sure you want that life? When you were fourteen, you wisely put it behind you."

"For the next few months, at least. I'm sure, Professor." She winced. "Sorry, um, Minerva."

The other woman sighed. "I will sponsor you, for the same reason I offered you the Time-Turner in your third year. I trust your judgment."

Hermione smiled brilliantly. "Thank you so much." And then she dipped her eyes. "And one final thing. I'm interested in joining a Muggleborn rights organization. Do you have any recommendations? I've never heard of any myself."

* * *

' _No_ Muggleborn rights organizations to speak of! None at all!' Hermione fumed as she walked to the library, clutching the small piece of parchment on which Minerva had written the names of a few people engaged in the subject. Normally if there was no public awareness of an issue, it meant that it was in fact not an issue. But Hermione knew better than that - in fact, she knew a good number of pamphlet writers who agreed with her, aside from the list Minerva had given her.

It was an outrage. Perhaps fear of Voldemort, or of the Death Eaters, repressed the movement over the last twenty years or so - but Hermione felt that the Wizarding community was not extremely repressive. Perhaps she would discover otherwise.

She spent the rest of the day and night in the Hogwarts library, and returned to her hotel really wishing she'd acquired the Time-Turner first. There was so much to do.

* * *

Harry took the package from the owl with confusion. He rarely received post by air; the flight was far from Britain, and Floo was far more efficient. He rummaged in the refrigerator until he found a piece of meat, giving it to the majestic animal, who cocked its head at him, piercing him with an inquisitive look before taking to air.

He recognized the writing on the parcel immediately, grinning. It had been too long since Hermione had sent him a something other than a ridiculously terse letter. But he was slightly disappointed when he found the object inside - a small square of plastic with a big green button on it and a strange mirror.

Her instructions were, as usual, short. "Press the button and say my name. -Hermione." He frowned and inspected it further. He'd never seen anything of its likes before.

Sitting down, he followed the directions, watching a strange glimmer light up the mirror before Hermione's face appeared. "Harry," she said. She looked frazzled.

"Hey Hermione! Wow. This is just like Sirius's mirror."

She smiled a little at him. "That was partially where I got the idea. I used the casing on a Muggle telephone, they call them 'cell phones.' It's got a simple charm to protect it from Muggle eyes, so it's perfectly safe. It's also very durable, I made sure of that. But here's where it really shines. This isn't, in fact, like Sirius's mirror at all. His mirror was paired. These phones can communicate with _any_ other person with the same device. You just have to say their name."

"Sooo lemme guess, this is a reverse birthday present?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You think you're original, but Ginny already said those exact words, and Ron said something like that, too."

Harry stuck his tongue out at her. "You mean you give reverse birthday presents to _all_ your friends? When did this start?"

"Harry, focus. I'm just in the testing phase right now. I've given sample phones to you, Ginny, Ron, Luna, and Neville. I'm asking you to brainstorm on ways to make it more accessible and a better product."

"Right," Harry said. He'd stopped listening when she said she'd given one to Ginny.

"The most obvious step to increase usage is to connect it with an already-used form of communication, like the Floo network. But the forms of magic are grossly incompatible. I was considering offering a service to enchant a mirror in a household with these same charms for a lower price, bringing more people into the network. But people might interpret that as a potential violation of privacy, since I'm not prepared to share exactly how I've set this up."

Harry shrugged and nodded, remembering how Hermione sometimes sounded like a Muggle infomercial. "Sounds like you've got it all worked out."

She rolled her eyes at him again. "Harry, I'm asking for your _help_."

"Is that all you want for your birthday, then? Or should I post something?"

She sighed. "It's not even my birthday yet."

"So do you have plans this delightful Saturday night?" Her eyes shifted, and he knew that his guess was right. "Tell you what? I'm visiting on your birthday. I don't care what you say."

* * *

A great benefit of being friends with Hermione was that she secretly appreciated things like ice cream and candy bars. She was just hesitant enough to make it fun coercing her into sharing an ice cream cone with him, which he insisted upon despite the fact that it was the middle of December, and snowing in London.

The moment he got her out of the house, he immediately set upon grilling her.

"Your letters have been brief enough, how have you been? It's been, what, three months?"

"Busy," she said. "Not with assignments though, this Zombie thing is a real joke. You just set them on fire when you find them. It's just housekeeping. But I'm almost glad, because that means I have time to do everything else."

"What is everything else? What have you been doing? Oh, did you see that article about Lew in the Prophet three weeks ago?"

"Yes," she said. "I haven't spoken with her."

Harry could tell when Hermione was avoiding something. He suddenly became very worried for his friend. Clearly she was not mingling with people, and now she claimed not to even have spoken with her closest friend aside from himself. She'd broken up with Ron abruptly, and then fallen off the face of the planet.

"Hermione, you know how you get so intense that you stop being happy? I'm worried you're doing that right now, and Ron and I aren't around to stop you."

"I'm perfectly happy, Harry," she said, her gaze piercing through her furry hood. He felt the need to change the subject.

"So where'd you get the unbelievably brilliant idea of these, what do you call them, phone-things?"

"Just phone, right now," she said, and her eyes flashed at him again, inducing the urge to grovel. "It wasn't my idea, clearly. I just figured out how to adapt it. I needed some extra money."

"Money? You could have just asked me."

"More money than that. Although now that you mention it, I could probably use some seed funds for the company."

Harry nodded. "Absolutely," he said, and then, "What's the ring? I never noticed it before."

Hermione blushed hotly and turned her face away. After a moment she was back. "It's a Ring of Strength, haven't you heard of those?" Harry laughed and didn't believe her for an instant. After a short pause, she changed the subject. "What are your thoughts on the Snicket unrest in Belgium?"

"The what in where?" Harry said, willing to let her change the subject, but adding 'ring' to his mental list of oddities that Hermione was displaying.

They ended up going to a Wizards dance club later that night. The bar was in Mozambique, and the air was hot and heavy. The decorations emphasized that impression, but the clientele did not - Harry had only been here once before, but his friend had explained that most of their customers caught a free Portkey from European cities. Certainly he could only understand one word out of seven that was spoken here. He'd been surprised at the variety of activities - they had a dance floor, but they also had a bar, a gambling area, and often a performance stage as well. This was part of the reason he brought her to this bar in particular; Hermione had never been known for her proclivity for dancing.

Harry was in awe, and made no effort to hide it. He ordered a drink, something with mint leaves in it, and offered to buy her one, which she refused. There was something seriously up with her; she never refused a bit of butterbeer. He tried to convince her by describing a Chinese drink, but she only pulled him away from the bar, grumbling.

They gambled away some money and danced together in the corner, and a French man approached her only to be firmly rebuffed. The man wasn't half-bad looking, either; the gears in Harry's brain spun faster. The man had recognized him, though, and soon the game was up and they left. Hermione stood on a corner in London talking with him for only a few minutes before sending him off, not even offering her own bachelorette pad. He would have been miffed if he hadn't been so damn worried for her.

* * *

Hermione collapsed on the bed. One consequence of thirty hour days was that she constantly felt exhausted, even though she tried to compensate by sleeping as long as possible at night. It was like she was constantly fighting jet lag.

She'd invested in a tiny flat in Bristol, and it had become her refuge. She breathed in the cool piney air and thought about Harry. He insisted on sticking by her, despite the obvious difficulties that posed. It had clearly taken some effort to get permission to go back to London, especially considering the fact that his mission was top-secret. But there was not an iota of hesitation in his voice, and he had not mentioned visiting Ginny once, something that she was, in fact, afraid to do. She was worried that if she spoke in person with a woman she knew well, some ineffable womanly sense would inform her that Hermione was expecting. She was absolutely terror-struck at the idea of anyone knowing.

Harry was a lucky bastard, she mused. He never complained of boredom, which made her suspect that when he was finally allowed to share what he had done, she would be extremely jealous. And he had a girlfriend who wasn't insane, and he was rich and famous. Yet he still seemed to think that Hermione Granger was an extremely important person.

It was one in the morning now, but she couldn't sleep and she certainly couldn't focus on work. Silly things, birthdays; she had been biologically twenty for probably about two months now. Maybe longer; her use of the Time-Turner in her third year at Hogwarts had been sporadic compared to this. And yet the world insisted on it being her birthday today, December 3rd. The world as in, Harry Potter, who for some reason wanted to make her happy.

She found herself smiling again. Harry was right, it was nice to relax a little. But her smile quickly faded. With Harry gone, the heavy blanket of reality fell quickly, suffocating her. It had been three weeks in real time since she had last seen Lew, and only incessant work could keep her off her mind. Incessant work and, apparently, Harry himself - proof that The Boy Who Lived could still work miracles, she supposed.

But she still felt brave, and strong despite her traitorous heart. If ever there was a time, it was now. 'Lew,' she whispered in her mind. 'Are you awake?'

'Yes,' she immediately responded. 'I'm really sorry, I miss you unbelievably -' Hermione felt the ghost of a hand touch hers, and she jerked it away.

She fought to steady herself, and then said as distantly as possible, 'Three weeks ago Dane Teague told me he wanted to speak with you. I believe he was responsible for your exoneration.'

She felt Lew's soaring hope deflate a little. She must not have kept the connection distant enough, and wondered whether Lew could feel the pounding of her pulse. But Lew only said, 'Dane Teague? Isn't he part of the High Council?'

'Yes. I don't want to talk to you.'

The hurt was intense. 'Please, Hermione. I understand that you're angry, but please give me another chance.'

'No.'

She shut off the connection. The absence of Lew was devastating, and Hermione spent a few long moments in almost physical agony. Finally she was able to clamp down on the emotion enough to think. It was possible that she might be able to let her in again, someday. First she had to forgive her, and right now she didn't even want to think about her at all. It was too painful, too raw, and too powerful - all of the things that had spurred Hermione's fascination were now reasons to avoid Lew.

If it was anyone else, she would probably never speak to them again. But it was Lew, who had always tried to protect Hermione, who had been clear from the beginning about her own reprehensibility. She'd been through so much in her life; she had admitted to childhood abuse, and what had happened in Azkaban... Clearly she did not understand the significance of what she had done to Hermione, but how could she? She was totally twisted, perhaps irredeemably.

Hermione wondered whether she would still want Lew if it transpired that she was irreparably ruined by her past. She tried to remember the way she'd seen Lew before - truly good, without the skewed moral center. Lew did care, she just didn't realize that what she had done was truly disgustingly abhorrent...

Except it wasn't really all bad, because look what she had from it. A baby, an innocent tiny person that Hermione was completely responsible for. Whenever she thought of it, a horrible thrill went through her, mixed excitement and absolute terror. She was already imagining what the baby would look like. Somehow the child she dreamed of always had black hair and ice-blue eyes, and when she held that baby in her imagination, strong arms encircled her, and breath that smelled like mint and raw carrots was close to her ear.

Her heart broke for the fiftieth time, and it was all she could do not to call out to Lew. To stop herself, she sat up, realizing in shame that her hand had fallen to rest on her belly. She moved it self-consciously, leaning toward her writing desk and surveying the north wall, which was absolutely overwhelmed by scraps of paper, maps, and schedules. She picked up a fat unopened letter. It must be a response to one of her recruitment letters. She read it, eager for the distraction.

Sometime in the early morning, she woke, acid in the back of her throat. She barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up.


	11. Chapter 11

_Getting that Time-Turner was probably the worst mistake I made this year. While it increased my productivity, I paid in comfort and sanity. I put up a good front, but it was I who suffered the effects of 5/4th days, worsened by insomnia. I closed my eyes and I could almost feel Lew's arms around me, and there were times that the only way I could prevent myself from reaching out to her was by getting back up and writing more plans, more diagnostics, more proposals. And even with my hands writing, my eyes focused on the page, her face still danced before my eyes. I forced myself to be strong, and when I had no more strength left it was a relief, because then I could sleep._

* * *

Regin did not enjoy being rushed. This, he reflected, made him a spectacularly bad fit as the personal aide of Dane Teague, but what was done was done. He rather preferred his former duties as the butt-monkey of the entire High Council; it was far easier to slip under the radar when you had over a dozen bosses.

He pulled his robes away from his chest in a vain attempt to dry the sweat under his arms. He mopped his brow before pausing in front of Teague's office, composing himself. He pushed the door open, speaking as he did so. "Sir, the records indicate -"

Someone was facing away from Regin, and they didn't turn to look at him as he interrupted. Teague looked up from his desk, a look of irritation briefly crossing his face. "Regin, thank you for your... promptness." He stood, nodding at the person, who stood as well. "I believe you have met Lew Cunningham?"

Regin froze in shock, before taking a quick step backward."Yeh- Yes, of course," he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Somehow the mangled body of Beable Noff would not leave his vision.

"A pleasure," Lew said coolly, giving no indication that she noticed his distress.

"Lew will be helping me in a similar capacity as yourself," Teague said. "Consider her your direct superior, and treat her as you do me."

Regin swallowed again, and then forced himself to take a quick step forward, drying his palm on his robes before offering it to the woman. "Absolutely," Regin said, shaking Lew's hand limply. "Eh - It will be a, I'm most glad to be working with you," he managed.

"Very good," Teague said, and took his seat again. Lew followed. "So, as you were saying? The records?"

Regin couldn't stop himself from glancing at Lew, who was looking at him with mild interest. "They show no monetary transfers between the Ravensdale family and Mr. Thomas, but in 1997 Thomas's body was found in possession of a singular bracelet that can be traced to Susan Ravensdale."

Teague smiled then. "Very good," he said. He then turned to Lew, explaining, "That helps substantiate Thomas's claim of parentage."

"Sir," Regin ventured. "Thomas is dead. How could this possibly be relevant?"

Teague gave him an inscrutable look. "Thomas is a half-blood," he explained finally. "Albert Ravensdale can't claim full blood status if Thomas is his father. What surprises me is that the Ravensdales weren't paying him for his silence."

"Perhaps they didn't know," Lew said.

"Then why would it take so long for Thomas to claim Albert?"

Lew shrugged. "Women have their ways of guaranteeing a man's silence," she said.

"So Thomas was the gigolo of Susan while keeping a Muggle concubine of his own?" Teague considered this. "It's possible." Finally he sighed. "Well, Regin, have a good weekend."

He heard the dismissal in the other man's voice and fled the room, taking a moment in the hallway to calm his beating heart. Lew was a bloody murderer and a traitor! At least that explained who was responsible for forgiving Lew. He wondered absently if she was considered an Auror now.

He left the building, noting that the sun had set, and walked to the Portkey slowly, seeing that he had five minutes to wait until it left for London. There was a rickety wooden bench on the hill, which he sat on, picking idly at a scab. The December air was chill against his body, but luckily he had just started to become uncomfortable before the Portkey took him off.

It wasn't far to Apparate to the phone booth, and down he went, to the inner bowels of the Ministry of Magic. So late on a Friday evening, there were only a few people left in the halls, so he walked unconcernedly, dispensing with a concealment charm. He wasn't very good at them, in any case.

Eventually he approached an office, and knocked briskly on the door. "Come in," filtered through the door, and Regin entered, smiling in greeting.

"Still at the office after sundown on a Friday night?" he said with a friendly tone.

The man sitting on the other side of the desk just smiled back at him. "Sit down, son. Do you have something you want to discuss?"

"Uh, yes, actually," he said, flustered. "Mr. Teague seems to be utterly preoccupied with finding blackmail items against the noble houses. He hasn't even mentioned anything else to me."

"Really?" The man raised his eyebrows. "That is... unexpected."

"Sir," Regan wet his lips nervously. "He has tracked down Lew Cunningham and apparently, she's working for him now. The deranged killer?" He let that sink in. "Perhaps he is conducting his... other affairs with her, or another servant's, help."

The other man hummed. "Naturally. He would trust a servant who is at his mercy, and Lew Cunningham has everything to lose if she displeases him. And she is far more capable than his other servants. It seems that perhaps I made a mistake in pushing your assignment to him."

"I'm perfectly content to stay for another month, perhaps two."

"Yet your services might be more effective elsewhere," the man said, standing and walking to a perfectly falsified window. The skeletal outlines of trees clawed upward at the horizon, the sky still lit faintly.

"Yes, sir," Regin said, and he felt the queasiness in his stomach come back. "To be perfectly honest, I would be more comfortable working for someone else. You, for example."

Kingsley Shacklebolt turned away from the window to smile at the boy. "Perhaps in a month or two," he said. "I will owl you."

"Yes, sir," Regin said, and made for the door. It was to be a solitary night for him, but he had been looking forward to relaxing all week. He shut the door and felt tension drip off him. Friday night.

* * *

"It is unacceptable," Rackrim said grimly, glancing ponderously around the smoothly polished table, his beady eyes angry in the half-light. "The mudblood insults our honor."

An older goblin scoffed loudly. "She insults our business sense, as there is no honor to besmirch."

"What is there to be done?" asked a smaller goblin, distinctly green in the candlelight.

"Close her account and seize the funds," Rackrim said instantly, but already there was muttering.

"Before she so rudely confronted us, she had already withdrawn all of her money and closed her vault."

"Is it true that she was looking for investment?" said another goblin. "Perhaps she stole something. It's not unknown! Harry Potter did it."

"We have tripled security! It is impossible."

There was an uneasy silence around the table as the group considered last year's unpleasantness.

"It is completely impossible for her to establish a competitive banking establishment," Rackrim said finally. "Granger is well-known as a dissident. If she becomes a real threat, we will deal with her then."

There was vague consensus, and then the group moved on to brighter topics.

* * *

Hermione ordered tea and took a seat at the bar along the window, facing inward. It was a hole in the wall, but coffee shops were hard to come by in the Wizarding world. As she waited, she brooded.

Those damn goblins. They refused to listen to her logical argument in favor of investment. Clearly her threat of opening a competitor was only distantly feasible, and certainly she would need a front man (she considered Malfoy; he was bright enough to see the potential). But in the meantime, the wizarding economy suffered. She, Hermione, suffered with it - she needed about 10,000 galleons, and while she was fairly certain Harry was flush enough to handle that, she didn't want to force Harry into such a narrow investment portfolio.

Fucking goblins.

The man had to say, "Hello, Ms. Granger?" to get her attention, and when he did she blinked and focused on him. He was standing approximately a foot and a half away, and she mentally cursed herself for her inattention.

She hopped off the stool and gave a short bow, which the man returned. He was wearing simple robes, the only extravagance being red lining and purple shoes. His face was lined by worry, but at the moment his eyes were bright.

"James Ravensdale," she acknowledged.

"No, please, call me Jim," he said, taking a slightly awkward seat at the bar stool next to her. "I'm terribly sorry for this preposterous meeting-place, but my wife Susan is highly suspicious of lending money," he paused, and Hermione filled in "especially to mudbloods" for him. "It seemed better not to excite her."

Hermione nodded in what she hoped was understanding. "Of course. Although I feel I must remind you, this isn't a loan."

He waved his hand. "As long as you guarantee me a full return in two year's time, I have no qualms with the arrangement. You know, Ms. Granger, you come with quite a few recommendations. I don't consider a loan to you a risky proposition whatsoever."

Hermione couldn't control a wince at his incorrect term, but fought through it. "Yes, sir. Would you like me to show you how it works?" She brought the new model, a sleeker design with a slightly smaller mirror, out of her pocket.

* * *

_Harry,_

_I'm going to Belgium for the Daily Prophet. They didn't want to cover the Snickets issue in depth, but I insisted and Talls finally capitulated. The permission forms for temporary leave went through like clockwork, surprisingly. Maybe someone on the inside agrees with me._

_I'm including a business plan for the phones. In summary, I'm looking for a small investment of 4,000 galleons from you and one other party, and I am contributing 2,000 of my own funds. You and the other investor will hold 40% of the total value of the company, while I will have 20%. At any point you can break the contract and absorb 60% of the remaining sum of your investment, which is a condition that the other investor insisted upon. As with any investment, I will distribute the profits according to the share of the company that you hold. As a for-profit company I can assure you that I will be looking to expand our profits at all times, except in the case of a potential breach in law or ethics._

_I will hire one 'manufacturer' and one salesman, who will double as quality control. I will begin selling the hand-held devices on February 1st, but Iexpect to accumulate a few pre-orders. The basic model will retail at 350 Galleons, and I will also offer a pre-enchanted mirror for household use at 180 Galleons, with an additional cost depending upon the frame._

_Merry Christmas Harry. Don't let Mercy get to you too much._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Harry shook his head, staring sadly at the stack of books beside him. He reached into his pocket and pushed the green button, saying, "Hermione Granger."

There was no response. After the mirror dimmed again, he tried again. "Hermione Granger."

Her face appeared, obscured by a big knitted hat and a scarf. She was outside, and her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes kept flicking up, and she continued walking as she spoke. "Harry. Did you get my letter?"

"Hermione. Two questions. Why don't you have a salary and why did you send me five books for Christmas?"

"I have a salary, Harry. What are you talking about?"

"For your phone company, you list only two employees, but there are three."

Hermione frowned heavily at him. "I'm not planning on exactly working for the company, Harry," she said.

"Don't be ridiculous, you're the CEO! Intellectual property and all!"

She brushed the comment off. "And you need to read the books," she said. Of course.

"Okay, well, look. I'll pick the money up next week on Christmas Eve, since I'm coming back anyway, and I'll give it to you then. Does that work?" He figured he needn't mention the Weasley family Christmas, since she was obviously not invited.

"Sure," she said shortly.

"Oh, and I'll tell Mercy the price, but I'm pretty sure she wants one of these phones. So you've got one pre-order already."

A smile flicked across Hermione's face, disappearing too quickly. "Great. Look, I'll talk to you soon, alright?"

"Yeah," he said, but she'd already hung up. He sighed and tried to think of a way to shake her out of her psychosis.

He had a week, but by the morning of the 24th he still hadn't come up with a winning strategy. So he settled. Hermione had been devastated when they discovered that Crookshanks had been mysteriously misplaced during the Weasleys' hurried move to Aunt Muriel's. Mrs. Weasley had insisted that Crookshanks disappeared a week previous, but there was a good amount of controversy over the subject, and through all that Harry had watched Hermione's face go from furious to despondent. Whatever the cause, Crookshanks had never come back.

So he Apparated very, very carefully to the foot of Hermione's apartment building and called her to announce his arrival, waiting nervously at the foot of the stairs. When she appeared, she was wearing a heavy grey sweater and a heavier frown, which lightened the moment she set eyes upon his furry delivery.

"Oh, Harry," she said softly. "Is she for me?"

He nodded and stepped forward, offering the tiny grey bundle, which made a soft mewling sound as it woke. "As long as you want her," he said when he'd passed the kitten over, but Hermione wasn't listening. The kitten had started purring.

He couldn't stop the grin from plastering itself onto his face, but then suddenly Hermione looked up and said, "But I can't, Harry, I travel too much... she needs other kittens to play with, she's too young..."

"Ah," Harry said, and offered a green paper flier. "I thought you'd say that, so I found you like, a kitten daycare. It's this Muggle place where like, businesspeople leave their kittens so they don't get lonely. It's not too expensive, either, but anyway I enrolled you for the full period."

"That is the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard," Hermione said, but she was smiling.

"Come on, Hermione, stop talking like a grouchy old lady," he said.

She glared at him as she moved to the door, juggling the kitten with her keys as she opened it. "Give me a couple hours to think on it," she grouchily conceded, and he knew he'd won.

Her studio was the most chaotic, well-organized disaster he'd ever set eyes upon. All her clothes were put away, and there wasn't a single plate that wasn't washed, but the entire north wall and most of the east were completely overrun by scrap papers, often pinned up but sometimes suspended by magic, with little red strings connecting some papers in a bizarre web. Her desk was also completely covered by scrolls and Muggle paper, and he noted that she'd completely dispensed with quills, preferring a Muggle felt-tipped pen. Her writing had also become smaller and messier.

He sat in her desk chair, while she took a seat on her bed and sat the kitten beside her. He instantly produced approximately twenty brightly-colored, fluffy, furry, or feathered objects, many with strings attached. A quick charm untangled them all, and he placed them next to the kitten.

The kitten completely ignored the toys, creeping immediately to the edge of the bed and peeking off it. Hermione watched warily as the tiny thing, barely as long as Harry's hand, jumped straight off the bed. She landed on her feet and skittered to the edge of the desk, investigating thoroughly before moving on to the chair Harry was sitting on.

Harry decided that the kitten was properly occupied and prodded Hermione about going out, and she lied so badly he had to laugh out loud. "You ought to like, join a women's club or something. What do women do together?"

"Harry, I am really not looking for any more drains on my time," she said sternly.

He shrugged, and then decided to probe. "You were getting along with Lew just fine, weren't you? I saw her in Grasia yesterday."

Hermione dropped her eyes and picked one of the toys, dropping it onto the floor in the most lackluster attempt at attracting a kitten that Harry had ever seen. The kitten perked up and bounded over to the toy, swatting clumsily and then falling over. The longer she was silent, the more Harry's premonition grew.

"Did she hurt you?" he finally asked, sensing the answer before she nodded, eyes still downcast.

He got up and moved to her bed, sitting next to her and putting his arm around her. She leaned into it, and he provided silent support in the best way he knew how.

His head was spinning. Did Lew's misdeed prompt the explosion in productivity? Was it related? Was Hermione involved in Lew's disappearance, months ago? Or had Lew done something to get back in the good graces of the Council, which had estranged Hermione? Whatever it was, he now realized that the depth of their relationship had completely escaped him. But he hadn't been wrong about her misery.

"Hermione," he finally said. "You can talk to me, you know. About anything. You can trust me."

Hermione raised red-rimmed eyes. "But I'm scared, Harry," she said.

He jumped at that. "Is she dangerous?"

She smiled faintly at him, and he relaxed. "Not scared of her," she clarified, straightening her spine and thereby retreating from him. He could see her pull herself together, and he wondered whether he should be relieved or not. "I'm trying to get a handle on this situation, is all."

"What situation?" he asked, somewhat exasperated.

"It all comes back to Muggleborn rights," she explained, completely baffling him.

"How is that related at _all_? Wait, you're doing something about Muggleborn rights?"


	12. Chapter 12

_There were some nights that I clutched my blankets close to my heart and imagined what it would be like to have Lew instead. In those moments it struck me as easy to forgive her, if only to have her at night. It could be our secret: I could forgive her at night and hold her, and leave the day for my fury._

* * *

Hermione stood for a long time across the street from her parents' house in Australia, thinking. On the one hand, there was a reason she didn't restore her parents' memories last year. They were happy, and she was afraid that it would almost be irresponsible to open them up to the heartache of having a child who was constantly in danger.

But she needed her parents. She was terribly lonely, in the moments that she stopped working and let herself feel real emotion. Her parents had always been there for her, and she was secure in the knowledge that they would love her regardless of what she had done.

Finally she crossed the street, resolutely ringing the doorbell and planting her feet firmly on the ground, fearing that if she didn't she might flee. The door opened, and there was Mr. Granger, looking somewhat put upon.

"Hello," Hermione started. "Is Mrs. Wilkins home?"

"Uh- yes," her father said, faltering before calling, "Jean, there's a young lady come to see you."

Hermione waited until her mother appeared before casting the reverse memory charm on them both. It took about a half-hour for them to calm down and sort themselves out enough to sit down in the living room and have a decent conversation. Hermione waited patiently.

Her father started. "So is it really Christmas Day?"

"Yes," Hermione said, deciding that explaining the intricacies of the Memory Charm could wait.

"But our surname is actually Granger," he continued, and Hermione nodded.

"Why did you change our memories?" her mother asked, cutting to the chase. "Why did you erase yourself?"

"I was in danger, and I worried that my pursuer might... attack you. It was safer that you didn't remember me." She'd decided not to tell them that she had also instilled in them the intense desire to move to Australia.

The newly restored Mrs. Granger looked very alarmed. "You were in danger? Surely Ms. McGonagall would have..." and there she looked lost. "How old are you?" she asked suddenly.

"I just turned twenty," Hermione said softly, watching as her parents counted out the years she'd been entirely excluded from their lives.

"So you've finished school," her mother concluded, not as angry as Hermione had feared.

"Yes. I'm working in magical law enforcement."

"And are you happy?"

That was not a question Hermione had anticipated, at least not so immediately. "Um, I suppose," she said quickly.

Her mother gave her a look, but it was her father that spoke. "Hermione Jean Granger. Tell us the truth."

She shrugged uncomfortably, but took her time with her next answer. This was, after all, the reason she came here. "I met somebody," she started, watching their faces. "We fell in love, and I'm pregnant. But we're not together anymore." Her voice wavered at the end.

Her mother had smiled hopefully at her, and then as she finished her smile had frozen, tears already welling in her eyes, while her father's face had changed from open to absolutely blank.

"So no, I'm not very happy," she finished, voice wavering.

"If it's that Ron Weasley I swear, I will -"

"It's not, Dad."

"Oh, sweetheart," her mother burst out, throwing herself across the coffee table to cling to Hermione. But her tears only made Hermione's heart more chill. The temptation to cry was completely gone now, replaced by a cold emptiness.

Her father was looking stern. "So you're determined to keep the child?" he asked.

Hermione looked down at her hands. "That's what I decided, yes."

"Alone?"

"Don't push her, Wendell," her mother said, rocking her grown child in her arms.

"Who is the bastard who did this to you?" he said again, focusing on Hermione, and she could see that he thought he could attack a wizard and cause any sort of damage whatever. Perhaps he was considering using a gun.

"Well," Hermione started, wondering if telling her parents would actually help. It hadn't thus far. "To start with, it's actually a woman." She ploughed on before they could respond. "And it was I who decided to separate, not her."

Her mother stopped rocking abruptly, and slowly drew back from Hermione. "A woman? That's not possible."

"Magic," Mr. Granger said, for once displaying more common sense than his wife. Then he refocused on Hermione. "Surely you can see that you're being unreasonable. If you don't love her, you need to abort the baby, because it will bring you only grief. And if you do, you should stop making yourself miserable and go to her."

Her father's instant acceptance was a relief to Hermione, bringing a little life back to her heart. But his words hit upon the crux of Hermione's problem, which shook her. She realized that by telling her parents about the baby first, before Harry or Ginny or even Lew, she was looking for more than just comfort. She wanted their advice. And if her father told her to take Lew back... wasn't that what she should do? But he didn't know the whole story. He didn't know what Lew had done.

"It's more complicated than that, isn't it?" Hermione said, recognizing the plaintive note in her own voice but unable to regulate it.

"Of course it is," her mother said, smoothing back one of Hermione's brown curls and looking sympathetic. Her parents had barely missed a beat when she confessed bisexuality, better than she could have ever asked for. Perhaps their years at university had informed their opinions on the subject.

"She really hurt me," Hermione tried to explain. "I can't be with her, not right now."

"But this is the time you need her the most," her mother said, and Hermione knew it was true. It had been seven weeks, but it felt like a short lifetime since she had seen Lew. The more time that passed, the more she was tempted to forget what Lew had done. But Hermione had never let loneliness be a motivation toward self-destructive actions, and she knew that even if she reached out to Lew, asked to speak to her in person, the moment she saw that face her fury would return. There was no forgiving Lew. So why was she even having this conversation?

Her father agreed with her mother. "Hermione, it pains me to see you suffer, but most especially if it is over something you can prevent."

"She wants to be with me so badly, and I do think she loves me in her way, but... she doesn't deserve me. I... must be treated with respect."

Her father looked alarmed. "What, precisely, did she do?"

And although she had promised herself she would not tell them, lest she make up with Lew and introduce them one day, she felt the irresistible urge to explain. She sighed and tried to fight it, but why was she here if not to tell them everything? "It was a spell. She needed to do something and the spell helped her do it. The baby was a side effect, and she thought I would just abort. It hurt me, and she didn't ask, didn't tell me anything."

Her father said, "Well, I can see why you would want some space from... a... that."

Hermione sighed, wondering whether she should defend Lew. She couldn't even really find the words to defend her. _She's irreplaceable_ came to mind, but that was somehow simultaneously an understatement and an absolute lie. _I love her_ was beside the point.

"Hermione," her mother spoke up. "Just as you said, what you describe... that evidences total lack of respect." She shook her head. "I would think hard before speaking with her again," she said, and Hermione recognized the same insane protectiveness that she herself felt, over this person who was not a person, her child.

"But she was... distracted. She's a very complex person. For her, it didn't seem as bad as it... well, as it really is. And I love her," she tacked on, saying the words for the second time ever. Somehow it was harder to say them this time, to open herself to that exquisite vulnerability. She'd been so confident in herself, in Lew. It was a dive into the future, but something she'd longed for. This time it just made her afraid.

It was a small defense for Lew, but the only defense Hermione could muster, because she thought Jean Granger was right.

Her mother accepted this with a small sigh. "Distracted?" she asked. "Distracted from thinking about your needs?" Hermione shrugged uncomfortably. "She is immoral, but you love her."

"Not immoral, exactly. Maybe not fully morally developed," Hermione clarified quickly, having put a good amount of thought into the question. And then the second part of her mother's observation came to her, and she looked up into the other woman's eyes. "I thought I could heal her."

"And instead she hurt you," her father broke in. Hermione closed her eyes, resting her face on her open hands and remembering Lew's fingers, the small moan that had escaped Lew's lips as she slipped into Hermione, the perfection of their union - and then its utter debasement. Lew had done more than leave her. She'd used her. It was spectacularly incomprehensible.

"How far along are you?" her mother asked.

Hermione peeked out of her hands. "Nine weeks," she said, accounting for the Time-Turner.

"How are you feeling?"

Her mother rubbed her back in a circular motion, comfortingly. Hermione let her body relax. "Starting to feel a bit better," and she wasn't just talking about the morning sickness.

They spent Christmas Day talking, her parents eagerly soaking up her updates. It wasn't the last time they talked about her baby, and every time her parents brought the subject up, she felt a knot of tension rise in her belly, only to dissipate as they spoke with understanding and compassion. She stayed the night at their house, her head spinning with the oddest relief.

She was torn over whether it was selfish of her to restore her parents' memories, and settled upon the conclusion that whether it was selfish or not, she was sure it was what they wanted.

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was swinging, although it was barely 5pm on Friday evening. Perhaps it was the fact that the centennial was Sunday night. Or maybe this was a typical Friday night. Hermione didn't really know.

She gave the venue a quick glance-over, and seeing no faces of mention she went straight to the booth in the back. The man already there stood quickly, holding a hand out. Hermione closed the distance and took his hand, liking him already. He had a good grip, amenable without being wet or limp. He also had a very nice face. He was wearing a light brown trenchcoat, a tie peeking out from under it.

"You must be Nicholas Waters."

He grinned back at her. "Indeed I am. It's truly a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Granger. You are lovelier than newspaper clippings had led me to believe."

She quirked an eyebrow at that but didn't comment. "You've had your share of the limelight," she observed.

He scoffed, taking back his seat and waiting for her. She slid into the opposite bench, quenching the urge to lay something down on the dirty seat before she took it. He gave her a friendly grin. "They scramble for headlines. Anyway, that was what, seventeen years ago now?"

"But you haven't stopped writing pamphlets," Hermione observed.

"Until Death Eaters came knocking at my door." His voice was not solemn enough for that statement, and it suddenly occurred to her that he might be trying to flirt.

The thought was so disturbing that Hermione forgot to express sympathy or concern, cutting straight to the chase. "Do you think Lord Voldemort's recent defeat contributed to the sensationalism that accompanied your first set of pamphlets?"

"Oh yes, absolutely," Waters acknowledged. "I was lucky, I'm not afraid to admit it. I was an absolutely artless teenager, having just finished at Hogwarts. Like you, I was a visionary, untempered by the facts."

Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes at that. "Yet your most recent publication received just as much media attention as a tree falling in an empty wood."

"And?"

"And wouldn't you expect writing about Muggleborn rights in the wake of the Dark Lord's second defeat to be... well... a little more exciting?"

Waters sighed, his eyes crinkling. "I have ceased to write for the people. I am writing for perpetuity, so that one day the history books will say, 'Nicholas Waters continued publishing to an empty wood until his death in 2050, and contributed to the academic body around the now-successful Muggleborn rights movement.'"

"You've given up," Hermione observed flatly.

"And one day, you will too. A beautiful face and a famous name doesn't change the facts. We don't have enough influence as a group to change policy, and policy ensures that we will never."

* * *

"Sir, the Belgians are not relenting." Jonah spoke crisply, at attention. Kingsley Shacklebolt frowned at him and glanced at Marco, looming behind his student-cum-partner. "They insist that it is their right to make use of their country's natural resources, and that the Snickets are neither native to the region, nor rare, and certainly that they are not being harmed by the mining at Signal de Botrange." He mangled the French horribly.

Marco cut in. "How they feel they can get away with such flagrant disregard for facts is astonishing."

"They are violating international treaty," Shacklebolt said. "But Snickets, while rare, are not worth international turmoil. We let the media do their worst, and hope that Snickets are not fragile."

"But, sir," Jonah said, and for the first time his face registered emotion. "An inquiry at the very least? Sanctions?"

Shacklebolt shook his head. "We don't have enough support from our public to sustain a sanction. All we could do is block trading, but the public would be in an uproar over Tvarti gems."

Jonah had never heard of Tvarti gems. He shook his head, but didn't give up hope. They left the office shortly, and Marco dragged him around the Ministry before finally allowing him to return to the hotel.

Help came from unexpected quarters. When he arrived at his room, an owl was waiting. The scroll had distinctive loopy script, and when he opened it his suspicion was confirmed. Biting down annoyance, he sat and carefully read the letter. And then he read it again.

Hermione Granger was requesting a week's leave to pursue an assignment from the Daily Prophet covering the Snicket controversy. She asked him to support her request and, more importantly, give her his assessment of the situation with, "Details details details!" She also noted, somewhat prissily, that as a member of the press corps she gave her word that she would not refer to his report in any way, oblique or otherwise. She also pointed out that if he happened to be in Belgium starting January 27th, as an Auror he was specifically expected not to communicate with her.

He did not like Hermione Granger. For a month after he'd met her he thought she was nothing more than Harry Potter's left hand. But he began gradually realizing that if Granger was a left hand, she was a ridiculously opinionated, pushy, and irritatingly informed hand, which could probably use a glove over it. Where Harry was easygoing, Hermione was driven to the point of obsession, and she did not hesitate to call anyone out on a mistake, even an instructor. He found her irritating.

But the Minister of Magic had just said very clearly that the press was perhaps the only force that could compel change in the situation. He could not fathom how Granger had ended up with that assignment, not being an avid follower of the Prophet and thus not having noticed her weekly column, or its recent expansion to include a response letter portion.

His brow furrowed. Her letter had included no personal plea. It was not written to be persuasive; she was succinct and businesslike. He pulled out a long, blank parchment and started with, "Snickets' first recorded sighting on Signal de Botrange was in 1309, by a Belgian botanist who happened to specialize in annual flowers..."

* * *

Hermione took a Portkey to Sydney on Saturday night to spend New Year's night with her parents. It was a subdued affair for the Grangers, although Hermione did Apparate her reluctant parents to a mountaintop to watch the fireworks.

They all went to bed at 12:30, and for the first night since she got it, Hermione did not turn the Time-Turner back.

One month later, she was in Belgium, having taken time off her work as an Auror to cover the Snickets controversy. The company involved refused to allow her on-site, but that didn't stop her from taking a broom to Signal de Botrange. It was midday, but the sun shed a pale, sickly light on the mountain, reflecting weakly off the patches of slowly melting snow. The mountain was blanketed with tiny, blue flowers, with only a few bare bushes looking over them and the skeletons of trees clawing at the sky.

Hermione landed the broom on a likely site, leaving it behind as she carefully stepped across the sandy soil.

A figure appeared in the distance. A black jacket and blue jeans - even the way she moved was so familiar. Hermione's heart leapt in her chest as she watched the figure move closer to the cliff, peering over the edge and then looking quickly along it, not noticing Hermione poised on the slope above.

"Lew," Hermione whispered. A flare of anger replaced the giddy excitement in her heart. Lew was just so close to the edge of the cliff, she could just -

Hermione felt a burst of magical energy fill her, coming straight from the adrenaline, and she spun into emptiness, appearing about four meters from Lew on a patch of rock. She cast the spell, "Pulsus Aeris," but Lew was far faster than she had expected. At the crack of Apparition Lew had already thrown herself to the side, coming up from a quick roll with her wand pointed straight at Hermione.

The words were already out of her mouth before Lew had finished moving, and Hermione saw her eyes widen with surprised recognition - a second too late. A ball of flame was already flying toward Hermione.

Hermione didn't even recognize the spell, so a counterspell was out of the question. It was clearly a conjuration, so - " _Finite incantatem_!" she cast quickly, but the fireball exploded before she finished, a wall of flame rushing at her.

She closed her eyes, and she could hear the flames roaring around her. But she felt nothing, and when she opened her eyes a shielding charm shimmered in the air in front of her, before dissipating. Lew was standing there, completely untouched by the flame and looking disconsolate to the extreme.

Hermione wondered briefly whether Lew was able to maintain two very strong shielding charms simultaneously, and then she wondered if she should just turn around and walk away. But Lew was here, and she really just -

She conjured a shovel and levitated it, aiming for Lew's face.

Lew ducked and put her arm over her eyes, so Hermione used the broad side of the shovel to whack Lew solidly on the shoulder, making her stumble. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't quite satisfying. She didn't want to kill Lew, exactly - she really just wanted to pound her until she was bruised and bloody, until she felt some fraction of how Hermione had felt over the past few months.

She dropped the conjuration, letting the shovel melt into the air and stomping toward her. Lew heard her and peeked out from her arm, and Hermione shoved her, hard, toward the cliff.

Lew fell like a cat, twisting quickly and gripping the rock, although her feet didn't seem to have purchase. Hermione let her scramble back to her feet, and she looked into her eyes.

Hermione slapped her so hard that her hand burned, but the eye contact had been enough, and when Lew recovered from the slap Hermione stepped close to her, grabbing her shirt and jacket roughly. Lew flinched, and then Hermione kissed her, hard and furious.

Lew's lips were unbelievable, like water after a lifetime of thirst. Hermione drank her eagerly, her fury turning instantly into something warm and pulsing, just as intense. Lew made a little sound in her throat, like a whine, and she put her hands on Hermione's hips. The rush of desire made Hermione break the kiss, panting.

Lew mistook her eagerness for receptiveness and stepped in, wrapping her arms around Hermione tightly, trapping Hermione's hands between them. She finally spoke, voice raspy, wavering. "I'm sorry. Take me back. Please. I love you." The first words in months. Somehow they did nothing to mitigate Hermione's mingled rage and love.

Hermione pushed away, and then glanced around, seeing a cliff face not a few feet from them, abutting the cliff edge. She turned toward it, bringing a bewildered Lew along with her, a hand still tangled in Lew's shirt.

She pushed Lew face first into the cliff face, pulling Lew's hands back and forcing Lew to turn her head, pressed hard against the rocky surface. Hermione pushed her body against Lew's, noticing how her breasts came so firmly against Lew's back, keeping the swell of her belly from touching her. She went on her tip-toes to lick Lew's earlobe, and then breathed hard on her neck, seeing Lew's eyes close in response.

And then she pulled off Lew's jacket, pulling Lew away from the wall enough to start working on the buttons of her shirt, arms encircling her. Lew glanced at her, eyes narrowed, and whispered, "Please don't hurt me."

Hermione paused, and Lew turned partly in her arms, only to be pushed back more firmly against the wall. Finally Hermione started working on the buttons again. She said, "I can't hurt you."

Lew was shaking her head, and suddenly Hermione felt tears fill her eyes, unbidden and unwanted. She swallowed them back, turning her face to put her cheek against Lew's left shoulder, away from her face. Hermione would not hurt Lew. She was too precious, in every inch, in every breath.

She finished the last button and pulled the shirt off, revealing Lew's body. It was almost luminescent in the sunlight, so pale. Her scar was a blazing hot brand across her left arm. Hermione ran her fingers up Lew's back and then down again, reveling at her smoothness. Then she undid her bra, fumbling a little at the unfamiliar angle before dropping it to the ground. She put her hands around to Lew's stomach, stroking upward and then resting them on Lew's breasts, nipples pert and hard against her palms.

It was the first time she'd held another woman's breasts, and she let the feeling sink in, leaning against Lew, her heart beating hard. Lew was motionless but full of tension, and still she let Hermione hold her, although Hermione guessed that she wasn't actually breathing. Lew tried to turn again, and Hermione pushed her back against the cliff. Lew submitted easily, immediately.

Hands released from Lew's breasts, Hermione stroked Lew's back again, and around her stomach down to her hips. Lew's skin was unbelievably soft, and Hermione again noticed how much firmer it was than anybody she'd ever touched. She could feel each of Lew's ribs, but she liked her hips more - she slipped her fingers under Lew's pants, tracing downward. Lew breathed out suddenly, shuddering, and Hermione remembered that she was touching a person who could feel her.

She pulled her hands out of Lew's pants and brought them up to Lew's breasts again, and Lew's skin rippled under her touch, her back arching into Hermione's hands. Hermione felt lust pool in her belly, and this time when Lew tried to turn around Hermione let her twist enough that she could kiss her.

Lew's hand came up to cup Hermione's neck, and Hermione felt herself melting into the touch, oddly familiar, perfect in its softness. She wanted Lew - too much. She let herself contemplate her body's plan. She would let Lew lay her down. She would let Lew tell her she loved her. She would ask Lew to give her everything, and Lew would penetrate her with body and heart and hope until the pleasure broke over her. And then she would walk away, taking what Lew had left in her - her heart, her hope, and this child - and decide whether she could keep Lew afterward.

No. She wouldn't walk away. If the seal was broken she would need more of Lew. Already she felt her need consuming her fury. _Overwhelm me. Overcome me. Make me whole. Fill me with you._ She didn't know if Lew heard her, but Lew did turn enough to grasp Hermione's hip. Three steps away from gasping passion.

She pushed away from Lew, stumbling. It took a moment to clear her mind enough to visualize a location. Lew was just turning fully around as she disappeared with a crack.


	13. Chapter 13

_Lew cried out for me every night, and if I had not been distracted by my battle with Gringotts I might have given in to her need. She must have hoped that upon seeing her again, I would take her back. And maybe I would have. But my work with the phone technology, challenging the financial underpinnings of the wizarding world, had already made our bed for us, and it was too late for our baby._

* * *

A week after her unexpected encounter with Lew, at dinner in Sydney, her father finally brought Lew up. In some ways, Hermione had been relieved that her father seemed to have disconnected her decision to keep her baby from her decision to stay away from Lew. They talked about the baby, but Lew had not come up again since that first night.

But when he asked her, eyes piercing, if she could tell them about Lew, the relief made tears spring into Hermione's eyes. She wanted to talk about Lew.

Before her father could clarify his question, Hermione said, "She's so beautiful. If you could see her, you'd understand. And the way she moves, I can't describe it. I can't do her justice. But she doesn't act like she's beautiful. She's quiet, but not shy, and so smart." Hermione paused, but her parents just nodded, so she kept going. "She is sweet, not the way you'd expect it, but sort of raw, honest. I never doubted -" she paused again. "She said she loved me, and I still think it's true."

"But she broke your heart, dear," her mother said. She took Hermione's hand across the table and squeezed it.

Hermione shrugged and tried to find an answer, but her father spoke first. "You do still love her."

Hermione nodded. Her heart had swelled at the chance to talk about Lew. It didn't feel like her heart was broken. Suddenly it seemed like Lew's name had always been there, just at the tip of her tongue. "If there was anything that could make me stop loving Lew, it would be this. But I do love her."

"What if you gave her the chance to apologize?" her father asked.

Hermione shook her head, swallowing down an aggressive lump in her throat. "I can't. I don't think I can take her back at all, so it wouldn't matter." Lew could apologize, and Hermione could take everything Lew offered, every smile, every magnetic touch, and it still wouldn't change their situation.

"But why?"

"It would mean letting her into the baby's life." Her son would have curly black hair and Lew's dancing eyes. A new beginning, a Lew unbroken. Hermione lifted her hand onto the table, and found it clenched into a fist. This was a chance she desperately wanted. She would not risk her child for Lew's sake, or her own.

"Wouldn't that be better?"

"Not without - she is so lost. I don't have time. I can't help her now." Hermione had wanted so badly to fix Lew, but in the process of getting there Lew ruined her chance at redemption completely.

Hermione would still have her. She made no effort to extricate herself from her love; it was still there, just as brilliant as the first time she kissed Lew, just as intense as the morning on Signal de Botrange. But loving Lew do not matter at all anymore.

Her mother spoke up. "The baby would help her grow. Having that kind of responsibility can really change people. It changed Wendell." Her parents exchanged a small smile. "Do you think it's something she wants?"

"I -" Hermione shook her head. "I have no idea. I think she's assumed I aborted. We haven't spoken about it." Hermione's temper flared. Who was Lew to force this path upon her? And who was Lew to ask her to abort? Let Lew think she had done it.

"You have to tell her what's happening."

Hermione frowned at her father. "This is my baby, not hers." This much Hermione was clear on. "She has nothing to do with him now, and I'd like to keep it that way." She hadn't known she made this decision, not fully known it, until she spoke it. "I can't take her back." This had gone too far. She would tell Harry and Ginny now, she decided. And she would not tell them anything about Lew.

* * *

A few days after her decision about Lew, Hermione received a count injunction by post. It included a mandatory notice to appear in two days' time at the Ministry of Magic to defend herself against charges brought against her by Gringotts Bank. The exact nature of the charges was less clear than their severity. Hermione was well aware of the fact that the comparative clout of the players involved was much more important than the exact nature of their claims.

Without more detail about their case, Hermione could not very well defend herself against it. So she decided to take the question to Gringotts itself. Having broken in once, the layout of the wizarding bank was branded into her skull.

And so, the same day that her story on the massacre of the Snickets ran on the front page of the Daily Prophet, Hermione Granger marched up the impressive steps of Gringotts Bank looking for a confrontation.

She found one almost immediately. The guards outside the bank's front doors had been warned not to let her through, and it was with great difficulty that she intimidated them into escorting her down that first, long, great hall. Every one of the goblin tellers impassively watched her march. There were no other customers.

"I am looking for Griphook, and do not tell me his is not here. I will not take no for an answer."

The head goblin looked down his impressive nose at her and smirked. "Take her into custody," he said happily.

Hermione struggled against the guards' grip. "It is an absolute disgrace that you are unable to offer financial returns to your customers. The money supply expands every year, and simply storing gold does not keep up with the pace of inflation! You are destroying the economy!" She was furious, turning to the goblin tellers lining the entrance hall. They all looked serenely back at her. "And you have no right to take me into custody, I have violated no law!"

Just as she said that, though, she remembered a passage from a book she had read during her school years. Gringotts could do almost anything it liked, in fact - by law, it was considered sovereign.

Remembering this, Hermione yanked her arm away from one of the guards and drew her wand. This meant that no crimes committed under this roof could be prosecuted by the Ministry. In her fury, this felt like a blessing.

She felt goblins' magic yank her wand out of her grip, and the other guard, a troll, threw her to the ground. She hit the heavy desk like a rag doll and then sprawled to the ground. The world went black.

* * *

Hermione clutched her broken Time-Turner, her body shaking in wracking, silent sobs. She fell against a nearby marble pillar, her arms crossing tightly over her chest as images of herself screamed and hurled brutal curses at the goblins, which took up high keening sounds as they died - at least the ones that still had throats and mouths to scream with. The last goblin almost made it out of the room before he was taken up by one ankle by a rope, and then smothered by ten more. The images of Hermione started flickering out, looking down at their Time-Turners and spinning. Three, two, and then there were none left, except the one immobilized against the pillar and the one unconscious on the ground at the foot of the huge desk, blood already beginning to pool beneath her.

And then, of all people, Lew appeared at the North Entrance, surveying the carnage with an unreadable expression before spotting the Hermione at the base of the desk and sprinting to her body. Hermione could hear Lew's voice, low and indistinct against the ringing in Hermione's ears, but the version of her at the base of the desk didn't move, her body lolling as Lew turned it over. She saw Lew freeze as she realized where the blood was coming from, and then she touched Hermione's lower belly with gentle, soft reverence, suddenly silent.

Lew sprung into action, levitating Hermione's body, but then, finally, the St. Mungo's paramedics that Hermione had called forty minutes ago arrived, and they took over, telling Lew to "bugger off, you can't come," and then simultaneously disappearing, probably with a password Portkey since that was safer than Apparition.

Hermione sat listlessly at the base of the pillar, realizing that she had stopped crying. Her body was still shaking, and she could feel blood gush again between her legs, but she felt somehow removed, numb. She wasn't in that room anymore. She was in St. Mungo's, and magic would make it right. _This_ her, the one she was currently inhabiting, would cease to exist, because she had changed time. She closed her eyes and willed herself to disappear. This reality was unacceptable.

She heard a soft step in front of her, and she put her face on her knees, arms still crossed tightly. Then there was breathing next to her, and a hand came to rest on her neck. She leaned in that direction, and then Lew's arms were around her, pulling her to rest against her chest. Lew must have been kneeling facing her, but Hermione couldn't tell, her eyes still shut.

They were silent like that a long time, Lew rocking gently, before Lew took a hand away and wiped her own face, and Hermione pulled away to look at her. She'd cut her hair short after their confrontation, and she was crying. Hermione didn't bother to ask how Lew knew what had happened, with the Time-Turner outside her shirt. And she knew the rules just as well as Hermione did. It was done. There was no changing time.

Finally Lew spoke. "You kept it?" she said, and there was wonderment in her voice, and confusion.

Hermione's breath hitched, and she decided on the safer option of nodding in reply.

Lew looked down her hands in her lap, jaw clenching. She shook her head finally, and said, "I wish I could have done something to stop this." Hermione pushed up on the pillar, eyes flashing dangerously. "No, I mean I wish I could have been here with you."

Hermione laughed bitterly, which sent a stab of pain through her midsection, making her gasp. She managed, "If twenty of me can't do anything, I doubt you could have."

Lew said, "What?" But then her hand came up and she touched the shattered Time-Turner around Hermione's neck. "You traveled back that many times?"

"Until it wouldn't let me," Hermione said shortly, turning her head away. She was sick, a whirl of impossible emotion battering her. "What is it to you?"

"Everything," Lew said, and with that Hermione struggled to her feet, ignoring the pain, and started walking away, trying to get out of Lew's range so she could Apparate without being followed. "Please don't... don't just go like this," Lew said. "Okay, look... I won't say a word, just let me be there for you. Please let me help you," Lew said, and with a rush of emotion Hermione turned and took her hand, spinning into nothingness with a crack.

Lew stumbled in surprise when they arrived at Hermione's studio, and then she looked at Hermione. Another cramp hit Hermione and she sat abruptly on the bed, moaning. Was Lew really better than being alone? She should go to her parents. There was nothing more dangerous or more welcome than Lew.

"Aftershocks?" Lew asked, and Hermione nodded, tears springing into her eyes again, unwelcome. There was nothing left in her but blood, and Hermione knew she needed to lie down to stop the bleeding, and first clean herself up. But agony immobilized her, and she curled up on top of her blankets and shook. Lew crawled up on the bed behind her, body pressed against her back, arm draped loosely over Hermione's. Hermione relaxed into the touch, gripping Lew's hand tightly.

Nobody but Harry had ever visited her here. The room was dripping with memories of the past four months, spent in a frenetic haze of miserable anticipation. With Lew here, the room became smaller, enclosing them like a shell. Lew became a co-conspirator, silent and unseen, nestled deep, a comfortable presence. Outside, anything might happen. Here, Hermione was safe.

When she woke up perhaps three hours later, Lew was still holding her. Hermione turned in the bed to face her. She'd found the blanket under the bed and put it over Hermione, and she'd taken her outer robes off, revealing a loose white linen shirt. She looked solemn in the half-light, more beautiful than Hermione had ever believed. Otherworldly, like an angel, impossible to behold.

"You wanted me to abort," Hermione observed tonelessly. Before that moment she hadn't really realized how much of her fury was defensive, over the tiny being that was so unexpectedly hers and hers alone to protect.

Lew looked stricken. "Wanted? No... Assumed, I guess."

"So you..." she struggled for the word, "... forcibly impregnated me while wanting me to keep the baby?"

Lew shrugged helplessly. "It was not my decision to make, I think?"

"You're so impossible." Hermione said, and then she found herself crying again, and was incapable of speech for a few minutes. She refused Lew's arms, though, fighting through it. "Just stop pretending to be upset, when this is exactly what... you planned from the beginning," she finished.

"I am the worst idiot, Hermione, that much is true. I just felt trapped. It was the only solution I could see."

"You should have asked," Hermione said, and then she grabbed the back of Lew's neck, bringing her own forehead against Lew's almost bruisingly hard. "All you had to say was, 'Let's have a baby.'"

Lew held her softly, bringing their bodies together, and then she tipped her head and snuck a kiss, gentle and so smooth that Hermione almost kissed her back, mostly out of surprise. Hermione said, "All you had to do is come to me every night instead of whispering in my mind, and we could have been so... I wanted you so badly, Lew." Her core throbbed in protest, in stinging pain, warning her away from this path, but she ignored it. "I didn't know until it happened but, if you had asked, maybe I would have known how much I wanted - how much I would have given for that chance."

She knew she was being unreasonable, and she knew that she would never have consented to it. But in her wild grief it seemed almost realistic, and she wanted Lew to know how much she wanted that baby. She laughed a little, shaking her head and loosening her grip on Lew.

Lew moved her head away and looked into Hermione's eyes, and Hermione felt the shock of those eyes go through her like the very first time. "I should have asked. I should have told you what was happening."

"Yes." Hermione rested her forehead on Lew's and let her back in.


	14. Chapter 14

_I had always known that Lew was gentle. Her touch, even that first night in the cabin, was always soft. But in the day after my miscarriage, I found out exactly how gentle she could really be, and the discovery of sweetness made the loss of our baby so much more bitter. For the first time, I could imagine Lew with a child in her arms, and all I could think in that first day was how badly I had wanted her baby, and how utterly devastating the loss was._

_What I couldn't feel was the healing between us. The loss of the baby had destroyed every barrier I had erected, and I could feel her pain distinctly, as the only other person who could truly understand what had happened that day. Together we healed, and when the scabs were formed we had healed together, and I could not imagine being whole without her again._

* * *

The harsh electronic sound of Hermione's phone ringing jolted her out of sleep. She fumbled for it, rolling out of bed.

"Hello?"

"Sorry if I woke you," Ginny said on the other line. It was sunny, and she was outside, walking quickly through a throng of people.

"You didn't," Hermione lied, sitting up straighter. "Everything ok?"

"Have you heard about the protest? It's scheduled for this afternoon."

"Protest? About what?"

"The Snickets. Of course. Where have you been? The story took off, Hermione. Everyone is taking Portkeys to the Yhevana-Miller factory from Diagon Alley at two. You have to be there."

Hermione checked the time. Nearly noon. Then she looked over at Lew, who had one eye open, her lanky body sprawled across the sheets. "Of course I will be there."

When Ginny hung up, Hermione climbed back into bed and pressed her body against Lew's. "You've had an entire day and two nights to leave," she said to Lew. "Now you're trapped. What were you doing in Signal de Botrange?"

"Mmm, nothing," Lew said, smiling at her.

Hermione slipped her fingers under Lew's shirt, acutely aware that Lew had slept bra-less. She let her fingers trace up Lew's back and then pulled the shirt off. This was the first time that either of them had been deprived of their clothing, but it felt right.

"This is not a joke," Hermione said. Lew trembled a little, and Hermione finally kissed her, letting her tongue dip into Lew's mouth. Lew was passive, almost sweet. As they kissed, Hermione's fingers started to roam again, and Lew's body rippled and shook, in one moment arching up into Hermione's touch, and the next shying away. "Tell me why Dane Teague cares about Signal de Botrange," Hermione said when her mind restored control to her. Lew started unbuttoning Hermione's shirt, and then their skin was crackling together and Hermione's mind was blank again.

Lew tried to turn Hermione on her back, but she grabbed Lew's wrist and trapped it above her. Lew's body became a hard pillar of tension, and she looked away from Hermione.

Hermione released her wrist, swallowing. "Sorry," she said, and then she pulled Lew on top of her. The weight of Lew on top of her was exquisite, and Hermione could feel herself finally melting into Lew, as it should be. One year ago, she would have never believed how completely natural it would feel to have a woman in her bed. But today, nothing else could possibly compare.

"Touch me," Hermione asked, and with that permission Lew bit her nipples and slipped off her pants. Their bodies met for the third time, and Lew was gentle, every inch the lover that Hermione needed in that moment. Hermione wondered if this was the lover she would have had on Signal, delicate and tender. She knew it wasn't. If they had fucked on Signal, they would have both left broken.

But Lew still told her that she loved her. Hermione bit Lew's tongue and told her to give her everything. "Everything is yours," Lew answered her. She kissed her and brought her to a trembling height of passion and then crashing down, impossibly long.

Their breaths together made a chorus in the dark room when it was finished, and Hermione held Lew's body close against her. This was a pleasure greater than any of the others: the chance to hold Lew afterward, as her body slowly relaxed, as their sweat cooled together. She kissed Lew's temple and then her nose, and Lew laughed. "You are -" Lew started, faltered. "You are the most incredible woman, Hermione Granger. Thank you."

Hermione laughed back at her. "I love you," she said, a fact not wrenched out of her by passion, and not a thoughtless answer to Lew's avowal. It was just the second time she'd said the words to Lew in four months, but they sprung like the smile to her lips. It was the same feeling, despite everything. Loving Lew was easy.

And then she remembered the baby and reality came crashing back down on her. "Thank you for being here."

"Thank you for letting me." Lew was solemn, her hair obscuring her eyes. Her nakedness was suddenly strange, a new kind of exposure. So instead of saying, 'Don't think that I have forgiven you,' Hermione stayed silent, pulling her down against her chest. She could fight Lew a different day.

The kitten Harry had given Hermione trundled onto the bed, and Lew scratched its head. They had developed a mutually beneficial relationship in the past day, and if Lew was laying on her back the kitten would have curled on top of her. As it was, she just rubbed against Lew's hand and then scampered down off the bed again, restless.

Finally Lew said, "Teague is obsessed with finding blackmail to use against all the noble houses. I am just one of his servants, each bound to him in a different way, all helpless." She propped herself up on an elbow and looked at Hermione. "At the time, the Snickets were just another secret to leverage against Miller. Now the dirty laundry has been exposed, and Teague is frustrated. He doesn't understand why you exposed this secret. He wants to know what you asked Miller for, and why he refused. This could ruin the business, and Teague is not thrilled. They were partners in another venture."

Hermione hadn't even considered using the Snickets' plight as leverage against a pureblood house. As usual, the political machinations behind each business transaction had entirely escaped her, and she wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing.

But the most important detail was not political. "One of his _servants_?"

Lew laughed and rubbed her hand along Hermione's ribs. "Pawns. I don't know. If he finds out I've told you this…"

"How are you 'bound' to him, Lew?" The kitten was skittering across the floor, chasing one of her battered feather toys.

Lew shrugged. "You know."

Hermione stared at her. "No, I do not know," she said finally, when it was obvious that Lew would not elaborate.

"I'm technically an Auror, and while I report to him, he has the benefit of being able to claim innocence in my methods. Any number of claims he could bring against me would have the additional weight of Noff's death, which every person on the High Council is aware of."

Hermione looked at her for a few long moments. "What have you done?"

Lew laughed. " _That_ , I think, is better left undisclosed."

Hermione groaned. "How can I help you if you don't tell me?"

"Help me?" Lew frowned.

"Of course, help you. You can't remain his… thrall."

"Well," Lew said, her voice suddenly overwhelmed with a strange hesitation. "The first thing would be to leave the Aurors. As long as you're still part of the order -"

"He can use me against you," Hermione finished. She gripped Lew's arm, pulling her up and kissing her, hard. "How exactly has he been using me?"

Lew studied the headboard. "I just mean that he could, if I were to try to escape. Even if we found dirt on him, he still - the positions -"

"Why are you working for Dane Teague, Lew?" Hermione was furious, helpless.

"I wanted to be - I was - it was my only chance to do good. I still want to be an Auror. There was no other place for me."

"No other place that you saw," Hermione corrected her, feeling a little better. Lew looked back down at her, and Hermione smiled at her. Lew's hair, at shoulder-length, fell just so across her face, and she was perfect in every detail. Hermione thought she knew Lew, but she was discovering the million subtleties of her body, different from their nightly conversations after Lew left the Aurors. Hermione worried that she would never tire of watching Lew move.

"Right," Lew agreed. "What else is there?"

"A million things," Hermione said. "Like the phones." She had demonstrated the phones the day before, and Lew had been delighted by the idea. Like so many Muggleborn, she loved the collision of Muggle technology with magic, in its many forms.

"But that's your idea, Hermione."

"It's just a start," she said, and then she looked at the clock. "I think I have to go to this protest."

"So it seems."

"Will you come?"

Hermione could see her refuse before she opened her mouth. "I don't think I possibly can."

"Teague?"

"Yes."

Hermione's lip quirked. "Lucy Cunningham, a cog in the wheel."

"Only until you free me," Lew replied, but the humor felt hollow. Lew was not just a cog, Hermione knew. And it would not be a matter of freeing her, so much as wrenching her out of a fast-moving engine, sizzling and hot and deadly.

* * *

Hermione stepped out of the Floo chimney into Diagon Alley with a sense of foreboding. She had walked these steps only two days before, the first time fueled by determination, and the second by rage. Now she stepped carefully. Ginny had not mentioned anything about Gringotts. It was possible that rumor of the incident had not reached human ears - would the goblins have covered it up? Disposed of their slain kinfolk and what - planned for revenge? She could be walking into a deathtrap.

She found herself spinning Lew's ring on her finger, and squeezed her fist tight. It came to her that she had never considered discarding that ring.

She paused in the threshold of the building, looking at the ring for the first time in months. Lew had appeared in Gringotts, just a few moments after Hermione's injury. Maybe it was just seconds. How had she known? The ring was enchanted - that much Hermione could feel. It was a comfortable heat on her finger. Familiar.

Jacob had threatened Hermione's life. That was why Lew had left the Aurors. Of _course_ Lew would have been monitoring her.

After everything that happened, Hermione had spent the past months avoiding thinking about Lew. She had kept the ring because it was a connection to Lew; although she had held her anger close to her, she had held their love closer. Hermione had never wanted to stop loving Lew. And keeping her ring didn't seem like a bad idea.

But with the ring's true purpose revealed, Hermione was suddenly unsure. Did she want Lew to be able to track her? Who knew what charms were on that ring? She slipped it off her finger and put it in her pocket.

There was a crowd of young witches and wizards gathered with signs just outside of Ollivander's old shop, now a shoe store. Hermione stood at the edge, until someone noticed her and she was propelled into the center of the group. Ginny was there, accompanied by Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Dean Thomas. Each of them berated Hermione in their own way for her social disappearance. The last time she had seen any of them was Ginny's birthday last year.

The protest organizer was a young man called Rich, a Hufflepuff the year behind Hermione. The old Dumbledore's Army comprised the core of the protesters, with many bringing their older siblings along. The group was young, of course, and infinitely eager to rally behind Hermione Granger.

It transpired that three Portkeys were not the best way to transport two hundred witches and wizards to Belgium. Neither was Apparition, as nobody had ever been there, and not one of the massive crowd had a contact in the Floo network that was decently near the factory.

Hermione stayed out of the conversation, finding it difficult to concentrate on logistics. The farther away from her apartment she got, the more unpleasantly reality encroached on her. With Lew absent, she began wondering whether she should have let her in so easily. The memory of their sex kept intruding amid the pleasantries, and it was both thrilling and upsetting. It had been too easy to accept Lew's comfort, in its many forms. Maybe giving her body up had been a mistake. Wasn't sex what had driven them apart? Why had it felt so natural, so normal, to trust Lew with her body once again? It hadn't just been a matter of taking pleasure where Lew offered it: the sex had brought them closer. But Hermione hadn't quite decided that she wanted Lew closer. She had just let it happen. Pursued it, even, but thoughtlessly.

Hermione was relieved when Rich announced the solution to their transportation dilemma. They would reconvene the next day, a Sunday, and this time Rich would bring thirty Portkeys rather than three. He asked for donations to fund the charms - it was not a cheap cantrip - and then he asked everyone to tell their friends and relatives to join them tomorrow. "And, if you know anyone in the press corps…" he added, flushing.

Ginny rolled her eyes at Hermione, and the crowd dispersed. Before Hermione knew it, they had made their way to the back room of the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. George passed bottles of ale around the group, and Hermione accepted hers. She sipped without tasting, trying to follow the conversation.

How had Lew found her so quickly? She couldn't imagine that Lew had Apparated within Gringotts itself. It was almost like she had gotten warning preemptively. Hermione wracked her mind for a charm that would be so accurate and long-lasting. There was some reason that preemptive danger warnings were frowned upon. But what was it?

The sound of her own name brought her attention back. "Hermione? You haven't heard about what Harry's doing, have you?" It was Luna, and had the sound of a question asked twice, although Luna was utterly unruffled.

Hermione cleared her throat. "It's on a need-to-know basis. So no."

"Oh," Luna sighed. "I thought since you are an Auror…"

Ginny was watching Hermione. "Is everything alright?" she asked acutely.

"Of course. There is just a lot going on." Hermione stood. "I think I actually need to be on my way." She knew she would wish for this casual companionship later, but right now she found it too difficult to maintain appearances.

Ginny stood with her. "That makes sense," she said. "I actually skipped out on a study group, so I should go and see if they are still working." Ginny had entered Advanced Studies for healing, and the courses consumed her.

They left together, and when the door to the shop had closed behind them Ginny turned to Hermione. "Harry said you've been acting strangely. What is going on that you're not telling us?"

Hermione had expected the confrontation, but still found herself at a loss for words. "Nothing," she managed, the word unconvincing even to her own ear.

"You can talk to us, Hermione."

"The Three Broomsticks?" Hermione suggested tentatively, and a few minutes later they were poised together over two butterbeers in the damp, rank air of the pub.

Ginny waited for Hermione to start, but somehow this moment seemed even harder than the last. How would talking about her infinite problems help to resolve them? Especially Lew. Lew was both the cause of most of Hermione's problems, and the only light that shone through them.

"I restored my parents' memories," she started.

Ginny nodded encouragingly.

"I think they are going to stay in Sydney. But they seem happy."

"That's good. I remember you decided not to restore their memories before."

"I missed them," Hermione said simply. Should she tell Ginny what they had talked about? What was the point, now that it was over?

The weight of the thought temporarily paralyzed her. She felt tears fill her eyes, and buried her face in her crossed arms. A moment later, Ginny slid into the booth beside her, murmuring comfort. Her arm came over Hermione's shoulder, and Hermione wiped her face with her hands.

"What happened?" Ginny asked again.

"Nothing," Hermione said. "Nothing happened." She had kept her pregnancy secret when it was the source of joy. Now, when it was the source of misery, her body betrayed her. "I am in love with another Auror," she said instead.

"I thought it was something like that," Ginny said understandingly. "You know that you can tell me about these things. Ron is an asshole."

Hermione hadn't been thinking of Ron at all. "Thanks," she said anyway. "It is getting pretty serious."

Ginny grinned at her. "That sounds promising. I never thought you and Ron made sense. But why are you crying?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "It's been a little complicated with her so far."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "In what way?"

"Every possible way," Hermione said, letting her breath out in a huff. "She is... difficult. She's wonderful, too, but - I can't trust her."

"It isn't - that woman - the one you were paired with in training?"

"It is," Hermione confirmed.

"Harry said something about her."

Hermione laughed, sniffing. "She is so beautiful."

"And? How is it?"

"The sex?" Hermione quirked her eyebrow. "Please don't ask me that."

"You're a prude," Ginny informed her. "I meant, how is it in a general sense. Not compared to my brother."

Hermione shuddered involuntarily.

"That bad, huh?" Ginny said sympathetically.

"Stop," Hermione warned her. "This is not a conversation I want to be having."

"But it's better," Ginny pressed.

"I had no idea I could love someone like this." The words were out before she could consider them, the answer to a different, more important question than the one Ginny was asking. "She is incredible. But she's also just so short-sighted, and weirdly selfish, and I think she is lying to me about - maybe about everything, I don't know."

"I never thought you would date someone dangerous," Ginny observed.

"Me, either," Hermione laughed. "It happened without - accidentally, almost."

"Did she steal you?" Ginny asked, a gleam in her eye.

"From Ron?" Hermione considered the question. Would she have broken up with Ron if Lew had not intruded on her life? "Not deliberately. If anything, she was careful not to."

"But she kissed you first," Ginny guessed.

"And I touched her first." Hermione remembered the impossibility of Lew's skin, the hot tension of their bodies against each other that first morning. What if Lew had kissed her then? Hermione suddenly wondered why she hadn't. She was the one who held onto Lew. Lew was passive, as innocent as she had accused Hermione of being. Had Lew restrained herself because of Ron, or for another reason?

"It sounds very exciting."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You're curious about women."

Ginny scowled and slipped out of the booth, rounding the table and taking the seat across. "I'm only curious about Harry Potter. You know that."

Hermione smirked and drank her butterbeer. It was pleasant, finally. Did she feel better? Certainly the conversation had made her forget, however temporarily, about the loss of her baby.

She spent the night alone, preparing more thoroughly for the confrontation at Yhevana-Miller. Lew touched her mind once, in wordless questioning, and Hermione shot back a quick, 'No.' Lew did not ask again.


	15. Chapter 15

_After letting her back in, it became very obvious that Lew had never left my heart, in those months apart. The problem was that I was not entirely sure that she deserved the reconciliation. One thing was clear: for us to ever have a chance at love, she would need to stop lying to me. But every time we met, her lies compounded themselves. So I gave her a few days to feel my absence._

_In those days, I tried to heal alone, and failed entirely at it. There were moments that I forgot the loss, despite the recurring cramps and bleeding, but the longer that I was oblivious, the harder the remembrance was. I caught myself with my hand on my stomach, and remembered how Lew had touched it while her soul was still inside me, how she had touched me in Gringotts. I had not quite decided to allow Lew to be a parent to my child, and although now it didn't matter, I wondered. What had she felt in Gringotts, having found and lost a child in the same moment? Was it because of her show of despair that I allowed her to comfort me? If Gringotts had not happened, would I have let her back in for the sake of our baby? Or, most disturbing, would it have been healthier for that baby never to have known Lew at all?_

* * *

"We have stayed silent too long!" The gathered protesters cheered raucously at Hermione's amplified shout. They were all standing on the packed mud around a medium-sized wood shack, the inglorious Yhevana-Miller "factory." The faces of some employees were clearly visible peering out through the glass-paned windows of the shack.

Hermione was not a particularly gifted public speaker. Her hands shook. Even her voice shook a little. But she kept going. There was nothing else for it. "Soothing Dye is not worth the deaths of a thousand fairies! All we ask is that you grow these flowers on another hilltop." This was not exactly true, of course. The Snickets tended the flowers. If the factory grew the flowers on a hilltop not inhabited by Snickets, the magical properties of the pollen would probably be compromised. There was a more reasonable alternative: if the factory was interested in maintaining yield, it would more carefully harvest the pollen from the flowers, keeping the plants and their tenders alive.

But Yhevana-Miller did not care about sustained yields, so they were systematically mowing down the fields of flowers. There was one final complication that did not make it to her final draft: Hermione suspected that the blood of the Snickets improved the efficacy of the magical dye.

"Leave the Snickets alone!" Hermione wrapped up. The group tried to use this as a chant, but the words were not well-suited and it quickly morphed into the first chant: "Yhevana-Miller are killers."

Hermione dismissed her amplification spell and met Ginny's supportive grin. It was Sunday, Rich had brought forty Portkeys rather than thirty, and the first recorded environmental protest in the wizarding world was in full swing. Now that Hermione was no longer required to speak, the enthusiasm of the crowd was infectious. Hermione couldn't help but think of her Muggleborn rights project. If she was able to maintain the attention of this activist group, could she rally them to that cause, too?

Hermione glanced to her left, and unfortunately Ron met her eyes. Her excitement waned rapidly. She grimaced and turned with determination back toward the broken-down factory.

Ginny had already hissed apologies four times, but the discomfort of Ron's presence was in no way affected by Ginny's remorse. She said she had just mentioned the protest to Ron, and that he had insisted on attending. Hermione tried not to think about him.

But an hour later, when the Portkeys were about to activate, Ron suddenly appeared before her, giving her a rumpled-looking sad puppy grin. He put his hand next to hers on the Portkey and they spun off to Diagon Alley, which gave Hermione enough time to thoroughly curse Ginny.

When they arrived, Ron said, "Can we talk?"

"Yes," Hermione said shortly, and led him through the alley, out the brick wall to the streets of London. They were both celebrities, and there was no reason to risk being overheard. She would have proposed another location, but could in her distress think only of places with people in them: the Burrow, Hogwarts, Hogsmeade.

"So?" Hermione asked shortly when they exited the Leaky Cauldron.

Ron was pulling off his wizard's robes, revealing a knit shirt and tight blue jeans. The largeness of his body surprised her; his big shoulders and bulging biceps looked strange now. He gave her a shaky grin. "Well, we haven't spoken in, I don't know, six months, right? What is going on? How are you?"

Hermione relaxed a little. "I am fine, Ron," she said, managing a small smile. She wondered how sad it looked. Hopefully not too sad. "How are you?"

"Good, good." His eyes darted uncomfortably.

"I sent a very threatening letter to Rita after that horrid Prophet article," Hermione offered.

"Oh, thanks. Yeah, it was damaging, I guess."

"Anyone who knew you wouldn't think twice about it."

Ron smiled gratefully at her. And then he ruined it all. "I hoped that you wouldn't think too much of it. I've missed you, Hermione. I miss… us."

Hermione bit her tongue and waited for the inappropriate answers to clear. It nearly took a block.

She turned toward him then, and he turned toward her, grasping her hand. "Ron, whatever we had before, it is over. Please understand."

He released her hand. "But we've been friends for over eight years."

"We can be friends," she offered.

Ron looked down and away. "I know I never deserved you, Hermione," he said solemnly.

"That's not it, Ron. Our paths have diverged. I'm sure you're happier without me."

Ron met her gaze. "Nobody gets anywhere close to you, Hermione. I am worried I will spend my life always searching for another you."

The words were a slap to Hermione's face. She took a moment to gather her thoughts. "But we weren't right together. You will find someone who is."

"Have you?" Ron asked, his voice ragged. Hermione hesitated, and Ron barrelled through. "Of course you have. It's that witch, isn't it?" He turned violently away, and Hermione let him go. Finally he said, "That's why we broke up. You cheated on me."

"I never cheated," Hermione said.

"But you admit that it is her."

Hermione sighed. "Ron, you are doing it again. As usual, you are building an elaborate fantasy where you're the victim, and everyone else is conspiring to make you miserable. Can we please put this behind us?"

"And what, become friends? Repair what was broken?" Ron was raging.

"Yes," Hermione said softly.

"Maybe when we're old and gray, Hermione. When we've lost passion." Ron grabbed her arm, and Hermione wrenched it away from him. "You think that you can forget what we've had together?"

"I wish," Hermione started, and cut herself off. "I already have, Ron."

Ron looked affronted. "Well. Fine. Next time I see that - what is her name - that woman, I am going to -"

"Act professionally," Hermione said. "Keep your head. Don't be a child."

Ron took a deep breath. "Why are you so horrible? Don't you have any - any -"

"Alright, Ron. Let's talk again next year."

* * *

Jim Ravensdale opened the door to his estate himself. "Ms. Granger," he greeted.

"Jim," she returned, closing the door behind her. "Is your wife in?"

"Not at the moment," he said.

"Unfortunate," Hermione said. "I wanted her to see the initial investment, returned in full."

Jim's eyes lit up. "As you promised, within six months. Most remarkable. Look," he added, gesturing toward a small mirror in the living room.

Hermione recognized it. "One of the few household models. I am wondering whether I should just drop that part of the business entirely. It seems to be more a distraction than anything else."

"It's the only one Susan uses. She is always losing her device," Jim said. "Give it some time."

Hermione handed him a burlap sack of Galleons. "I suppose."

"So explain to me how this 'investment' works, one more time."

Hermione sighed and took a seat on one of their couches. It was firm. She reminded herself to maintain her posture; these noble families valued proper appearances more than they would admit. "I just gave you 2,000 Galleons, which is 40% of the profit from the phone sales. The profit is the amount of money that remains after subtracting the cost for producing the phones."

"40% because I contributed 4,000 Galleons to begin with," Jim said carefully.

"And the total seed funds were 10,000. I paid myself 1,000 Galleons this month, because I contributed 2,000 to the seed fund."

"I think I am understanding, now. So next month…."

"I will probably be giving you another 2,000 Galleons. Maybe a bit more."

"So the business is doing that well?"

"Yes. I am thinking about hiring another enchanter, actually. Dylan is on backorder, which I think is frustrating some customers."

"I like this way of setting up contracts. It's much more, um, resilient than the usual investment."

Resilient had been her word. "I'm glad. You should tell the other noble houses about it. I've already spoken with the Malfoys."

"What did they say?"

"Essentially, what you said at first. That the lack of guarantee was too risky. They prefer to include some stipulations about years of service in case of business failure."

"They always have," Jim said, and then he looked behind Hermione. "Ms. Granger, meet my son, Albert."

Albert was a stocky thirty-something who bowed to Hermione. "A pleasure," he said softly. "Your phones are an achievement, Ms. Granger."

"Thank you," Hermione said.

"I was just leaving. Excuse me."

When the front door closed, Jim shook his head. "Poor boy is devastated about the Browns pulling out of the engagement."

"Oh?" Hermione said, trying to be polite.

"It seems as if he will be forced to marry Dolly Rosier after all."

"He isn't interested?"

Jim sighed. "It's just that awful house she lives in. She won't leave it, you know."

"I didn't know," Hermione remarked. "There aren't any other matches for him?"

Jim looked up at her, a little alarmed. "This isn't to say that we are against mixed marriages, not at all," he sputtered. "Quite the opposite. The poor boy just doesn't have much magic in him, so it seemed - safer -"

Hermione couldn't help but smile at his embarrassment. "I never thought you were," she assured him.

"Good, good," Jim said, and then stood, wiping his hands on his robes. "Well, I can imagine that you have a million things lined up today. You're an Auror, isn't that right?"

"I am," Hermione confirmed. _For now._ "I was just going to drop in on Dylan. I will let you know how it goes."

"Of course, perfect. I will look for your owl." Hermione smiled again at him, and he said quickly, "Or your call, of course, I'm available. Anytime."

"That's another feature I've been meaning to add, actually. You shouldn't need to pick up the phone to receive a message. It can be so disruptive, can't it?"

Jim was thoughtful. "But how would you do it?"

"I will let you know once I've discussed it with Dylan and put together some preliminary models. It never hurts to add features."

Jim grinned at her, eyes twinkling with delight. "You have quite the mind for business. It's very refreshing."

"Thank you," Hermione said, and walked out the door. She Disapparated outside, glad to have escaped the odd formalities of her meetings with the Ravensdales.

Dylan was a retired postal worker who never worked more than half-time, which neither he nor Hermione directly acknowledged. If he produced a product that was inferior, Hermione would have said something. But they had few returns, mostly regarding physical damage to the plastic case, and he made more money layering enchantments on mirrors than he ever had in his professional life. The arrangement was satisfactory.

When Hermione appeared before his cottage, he was putting the last touches on a elaborate stew. It was quite good.

Over lunch, Hermione asked Dylan what he thought of hiring another enchanter. "I don't think Fiona would be able to keep up," he pointed out immediately. Fiona took the finished mirrors and affixed them on their plastic cases.

"The rest of her job wouldn't change," Hermione said. "In fact, it might lessen. She said she is constantly approached by customers inquiring about when their phones will be ready."

Dylan harrumphed and nodded. "She said as much to me as well. Where would they work?"

"Could they work with you, here?"

Dylan looked a little uncomfortable, but he finally nodded. "I suppose that would make sense. How do you plan to recruit?"

"I'm not sure yet. I wanted to run the idea past you and Fiona before taking it further. Do you know anyone who might be able and interested?"

"None of my old colleagues would have the disciple to do it, now," he mused.

Hermione thought he used an interesting word. "What about a recent graduate? Many of them are struggling to find a place, since Hogwarts has no form of job placement." The assumption seemed to be that young graduates would find a job through their family connections. Another oft-overlooked aspect of the structural discrimination against Muggleborn.

"It would be better to get someone who's been out in the world a bit."

"I think I will put up some posters around Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade and see who takes the bait. Ideally we would like to have someone, as you said, who could also help Fiona as well. Would you like to review the bulletin before I post it?"

Dylan shook his head, returning to the stew. Hermione considered discussing her ideas about voicemails, but restrained herself. For this situation to work, he would need to be satisfied with the new hire. If he wasn't, he could easily leave the company and take his knowledge with him. Hermione hated to plan around competition, but she had no doubt that if she didn't, she would end up regretting it. Best not to complicate matters for him - and best to keep this idea to herself, until the hire was smoothed out.

She sat with him for a few hours, which always made him about three times more productive, and then she received a messenger Patronus requesting her help in Ghana. Apparently there was a colony of Inferi and their master, and Jeremy specifically said to dress "for dirty work."

Hermione had almost hoped that meant that the cleanup would be a challenge, but it was just messier than usual. The wizard who had created the colony had done it accidentally, and he was unable to control them. In fact, he knew so little magic that Hermione hesitated to leave him behind.

"Shouldn't he be educated? I think this is probably just the first of many incidents he will cause, if we don't intervene. He's obviously quite powerful…"

Jeremy looked at her a long time, and then turned back to the inadvertent Dark Master. He asked through his translator spell, "Do you want to come to England and learn magic?"

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt did not enjoy the subtlety that his line of work forced upon him. So when Regin arrived at his office, once again after 5 o'clock on a Friday night, he did not mince words. "It's time for your transfer."

Regin collapsed into an armchair and managed a weak grin. "That is incredibly good news."

"It is not," Kingsley said sharply. "Did you ever bother to even look at the faces of my door guards? If you had, doubtless we would not be in this predicament."

"Door guards?" Regin asked blankly.

"Astounding. You are as dull as you look."

Regin summoned up a fair pout at the insult. "What happened?"

"A myriad of crosses and double-crosses. The short of it is that one of my guards was found mutilated beyond recognition by a summoned mastiff hound at his home. The apartment was completely sterile. Not even a journal, correspondence… nothing left. During the course of the investigation, several Aurors came forward to inform the Ministry that this same man had been seen in Grasia more than once. I expect that you would have recognized him."

"Lew Cunningham?" Regin offered.

"Of course we have no proof," Kingsley said sharply. "But the trail leads to Teague. It is obvious that you are a known informant."

Regin blew out a breath. "So where will I go?"

Kingsley waved his hand. "I can't be involved, now that Teague knows our connection. I thought I would let you know, so that you can request a transfer."

"What? I thought I would transfer here."

"You could have prevented this mess to begin with. Why should I transfer you to the Ministry?"

Regin shut his mouth tightly. When it was obvious Kingsley would not say anything further, he stood and exited, cursing the Minister of Magic, the unnamed guard, and Lew Cunningham each in turn. A field position? He would be ripped to shreds in the field. Better to stay Teague's secretary, however dangerous working for Teague was.

Then he imagined the guard, doubtless a wizard skilled in combat. A hound had killed him? What manner of hound could have killed a fully competent wizard? It seemed so improbable. Except that Lew Cunningham had been there. Had she pinned him to the floor with her magic? Tied him with conjured cables? Maybe she had just knocked him unconscious and let the dog kill him. Somehow, Regin doubted it.

Unbidden, the image of Noff's body returned to him. There was a core of cruelty in that woman. Why hadn't she just done _that other thing?_ The punishment worse than death. It would have had the same effect of silencing the man. But no - she was the only one who could do that. It would have given her identity away.

But she could have knocked the guard unconscious and suffocated him. To instead destroy his body using an animal was a profanity. Or a deliberate message. To him?

Regin's blood ran cold and he increased his pace. He would be safe at home. It was only when he saw the shadow in his apartment that he remembered that the guard had met his death at home.


	16. Chapter 16

_The memory of killing all those goblins should have haunted me, but at that moment in my life it was the least of my concerns. I dropped Gringotts from my list of projects, although I had skipped completely out on the court date. A letter from the Wizengamot dismissing my case should have been a warning to me, but it was not. I felt both dismissive of the goblins, and invulnerable to any further damage from them. This was a mistake that I would come to regret._

* * *

"Thank you," Lew said in a rush when Hermione stepped through the door. The Leaky Cauldron's few patrons were eating breakfast or slowly smoking long pipes, and Lew's voice broke through the contemplative silence.

Hermione guided her to a booth near a fire and sat across from her. She kept her voice low. "Do you think I can trust you, Lew?"

Lew looked uncomfortable. "What do you mean?"

"Answer the question."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Hermione," she said, and it was almost believable.

Hermione took her ring out of her pocket and put in on the table between them. "Let me see yours," she whispered.

"What are you talking about?" she said, but her face showed that she knew the game was up.

"I know why you were at Signal de Botrange."

Lew's jaw worked, and then she pulled out a keychain and slowly unhooked the matching ring from it.

"You shouldn't have used the Anticipatory Chain."

"It worked well, while Jacob was active." Lew was not quite apologetic.

"But that fireball?"

Lew winced and dropped her eyes to her hands, fingers laced on the table between them. Hermione let her own hand fall on Lew's, just for a second. The contact was startling, warm and comfortable. Hermione withdrew her hand.

"Why would you keep lying to me, Lew?" The sense of betrayal was slightly mitigated by its precedent. "You must have known that I would piece it together. But you persisted." Hermione picked up Lew's ring, slipped it onto her index finger. "Put it on," she said. Lew picked up Hermione's ring. "Why did you take it off when you saw me?"

Lew shook her head. "I was just used to - I didn't want you to know."

Hermione shook her head. "You are so stupid."

"What if you hadn't thought of it? I wanted to keep you safe."

"That is not how this works," Hermione hissed, allowing her voice to rise. "You don't protect me. You don't shelter me. We work together, or we don't work at all."

Lew nodded and slipped Hermione's ring on her third finger. It was a tight but sufficient fit.

A flood of information overwhelmed Hermione's senses, and she was blinded for moment. She tried to remember the spell, but Lew beat her to it. " _Exurdus Personae_ ," she murmured, and Hermione took out her wand and cast the spell on herself.

The information was still there, but it wasn't overwhelming any more. "This is crazy, Lew," Hermione finally whispered. She could actually feel Lew's heart beating. She could feel the heady mix of discomfort at her words and giddy joy at her nearness. The key - the thing that made it all work - was a certainty that Lew was in a place she knew as the Leaky Cauldron. And Hermione could feel a strange pull, an almost physical tug toward Lew. Lew hadn't used Apparition to find Hermione. It was a charm in the ring, meant to be two-way, that allowed each person to transport to each other. Lew had changed the charm. The level of skill involved was baffling.

Hermione had not been able to imagine a higher level of intimacy than touching minds, but this? "This is crazy. How did you make this?" Lew's heart skipped a beat, Hermione's body tugged toward her, and Hermione was suddenly aware of a flood of need filling her body. She could feel Lew's breath. Lew's heart yearned for her, a surprisingly sweet feeling, desperate but soft. Hermione had always imagined Lew's love to be harsh, but it wasn't. Lew wanted to be healed, to be whole. Hermione took a deep breath, fighting to control herself.

How had Lew stayed away, all those nights, with Hermione's need so close, so present? She remembered Lew's ghosting touches, the feeling of her pressed against her back. Had that been an unintended side effect of one of these enchantments?

She choked down the burning in her belly and focused on the table, letting her fingers press against the wood, focusing on the grain. Her fingertips were numb from the charm that she had cast on herself. Finally she said, "I'm not the one in danger any more, Lew. We are working to protect you now. What else have you lied to me about?"

Lew's heart dropped. She squinted at her and then shook her head. "Nothing," she said. "I haven't-"

"Then make something up," Hermione spat. "I want to think I can trust you."

"You _can_ trust me," Lew whispered, and her hands clenched on the table. Her heart could burst from wanting, from the fear of losing. It was too much. Hermione's body shuddered, and she reached over and grasped both of Lew's hands.

The contact calmed Lew, but it made Hermione physically ache. How would Lew feel with her hand running up her back? "Then show me that you respect me. Show me that you consider me a partner, Lew."

Lew turned her hands up to grip Hermione's. She looked up, her face finally showing her vulnerability. "I want you to be safe from all this," she said, a losing argument.

"I won't be safe until you are safe. How can you not understand that?" Hermione squeezed Lew's hands tightly. "I can only help you if I know what is happening."

Lew rubbed her thumbs along the top of Hermione's hands. "OK," she said finally. "OK." Hermione raised her eyebrows but allowed Lew time to gather her thoughts. "Mainly just one detail. Just that - when Dane Teague - when we spoke for the first time, he made it clear to me that -"

When Lew ran out of words, Hermione prompted, "That I would suffer if you did not submit to him?" Lew nodded, full of trepidation. "What happened to doing good?" Hermione finally asked. She had guessed this answer, but Lew had lied so convincingly.

"I want that, too. But I can't do that under Teague. And I could see it from the first meeting."

"OK," Hermione said. "Thank you for telling me the truth." There was no point in berating her. It was a frustrating revelation, but somehow not surprising - another complication in an already tangled web of difficulties. That Lew would be susceptible to such coercion was not a surprise. That Dane Teague would want her as a lackey was also not surprising. Hermione did not like feeling like currency, but it was not Lew's fault.

Hermione released her hands and stood up. They were sitting right next to the door that led to the back alleyway, and the Leaky Cauldron was so empty this early. She tipped her head at the door and Lew slid out of the booth and followed her out the door to the alley.

" _Obfuscate_ ," Hermione murmured, and then she pulled Lew against her and kissed her. Each touch was a new explosion in Hermione's body. She was already panting, and Lew was bewildered, following along blindly. The ring must not have affected Lew in this way. "I am going to make that conversation worth it for you," Hermione said, and Lew let her hand on Hermione's back slide up. She pushed her lightly against the brick wall, and Hermione arched her back into the wall, into Lew's hands. Lew was gratified, almost surprised at Hermione's responsiveness.

"Oh, you love me," Hermione moaned, unfastening her pants.

"Yes," Lew whispered. "I love you."

"I need to make you whole."

"I just need you," Lew answered, and she had her fingers inside. Hermione was helpless, the two bodies' emotions chorusing in her, drowning out her own pleasure in the torrent. Lew _did_ need her. Lew was yearning, attaining, but never satisfied. And Hermione was hungry for her touch, and it wasn't enough.

Hermione slipped off the ring, letting the numbing charm fall away, and finally she could feel what was happening. Lew was on her knees and Hermione was straddling her, letting her hold her up against the wall, her pants bunched at her ankles. Lew was nipping her hips, and her hand was wet and cold and perfect, her touch so deep and fast. "You want me," Hermione said, and she put her hand on Lew's shoulder. "Kiss me." The climax was close, but when Lew stood up she lost the rhythm and Hermione enjoyed a few more long moments of hard fucking, Lew's lips brushing against hers, against her temple and her jaw, before she crested. Lew kept kissing her face after she pulled out her hand, and Hermione's fingers ran up and down Lew's chest, and up to her neck. She wanted nothing more than to have their bodies naked against each other. Lew's hands were shaking, her touch still hard and needy.

"Come to my apartment, " she asked.

"Yes," Lew agreed, and then they tangled in Hermione's bedsheets until Jeremy sent a messenger Patronus asking Hermione to meet him in London to clear out a colony of Inferi in the sewers.

"Duty calls," Hermione murmured, relishing every inch of their skin together. Lew was spooning her, and Hermione turned in her arms to kiss her. "I don't want to stop," she said.

Lew's answer was to pull Hermione on top of her. Hermione kissed her, and then Lew was inside for the fourth time and Hermione gasped and sat up, straddling her hips, riding her fingers. "Mmm, I'm so sore," she said, but Lew's fingers deep inside were worth the discomfort. She held her breath and then leaned down to press her breasts against Lew's, still grinding down on Lew's now immobilized hand.

"Come for me," Lew begged.

"I can't," Hermione said. Lew's hand rotated and then she was rubbing around her clit. "Come here tonight," Hermione managed. "I will wait for you."

Lew shook her head. "Something is happening tonight."

"Fuck," Hermione said, and sat back up, letting Lew's fingers dig deep inside her again. "I can't let you go."

Lew sat up and kissed her, easing her fingers out. She kissed down Hermione's neck and between her breasts, and then around her ribs.

Hermione caught her breath. "What is happening tonight?" she asked. And then for a moment she caught a glimpse of Lew's hand, not clean and wet as she had expected, but strangely red. The blood of their child, weirdly highlighted in the half-light. Lew must have hidden it before, wiped it away before Hermione saw, but of course the blood had always been there. The memory of the baby intruded, there always, jarring now, red and tiny and completely dead, perfectly formed, unsaveable even as Hermione reached for it. Lew had never seen this baby. Hermione was overcome with the need to delete the image, to destroy the tiny piece of their selves united, the possibility destroyed before it happened.

Lew saw Hermione see the blood, and Hermione spoke quickly into the silence. "Have you forgotten already?"

"No. No." Lew bit her lip, squinting. "It shouldn't be dangerous. We had some bugs in the house of a distant Lestrange, and they've all gone silent. It happened over a period of a week. It's possible that they found them, but we don't know for sure, maybe the model was low quality. I'm visiting under the auspices of a criminal investigation and leaving a bug of a different kind."

"Auror bugs, or Teague's?" Hermione lay down next to Lew, slipping a leg over Lew's legs and nestling her face in Lew's neck.

"Technically, Auror. But it's Teague's man listening, and he doesn't report everything to the High Council. Teague does all his operations like that - feeding just enough information that it's not suspicious, using the Auror title as cover."

Hermione processed this, and then changed tack. "You said Teague was Miller's business partner. Does Teague have a lot of ventures? How does he make money?"

"Well." Lew pulled away to look at Hermione's face. "That isn't really what I do for him, so I don't totally know. But most of what I've overheard involves foreign exploration, looting, harvesting, that kind of thing."

"Similar to the Soothing Dye," Hermione said.

"Exactly like it," Lew confirmed.

Hermione scowled. "How are Aurors allowed to engage in such activities? We are the police. We shouldn't be seen as profit-driven."

"Even if it wasn't allowed, he would act through relatives. So a blanket ban wouldn't work."

"It should be an embarrassment."

Lew shrugged. "Yes."

The conversation had distracted Hermione, and she stood, pulling back on her jeans. She hadn't been able to wear these particular jeans for weeks, something she had refused to acknowledge at the time.

She pulled Lew's ring out of the pocket of the jeans and sat on the bed, allowing Lew to rub her back.

"I didn't expect this to be so… intense. Why did you include the emotions?"

Lew shrugged. "Bill said that the danger enchantments were notoriously unpredictable. Theoretically, to avoid what happened on Signal, I was supposed to wait until you knew that you were in danger." She grimaced. "So that I wouldn't accidentally be causing the danger."

"So what happened on Signal?"

Lew shook her head. "I had a bad day?"

"I attacked you," Hermione pointed out.

"You were nervous, so I had to go. But… obviously I was not supposed to be throwing fireballs at you. I'm sorry."

Hermione shook her head. "Forget about it. Anyway. You can't have spent five months with an active _Exurdus_ charm."

"No," Lew confirmed. "Here, put it on."

Hermione hesitated, and then she slipped it back on. She was prepared, this time, but the onslaught was still devastating. Lew wasn't as upset now, but the feeling of her heart beating was all-consuming, her breath intense, stealing Hermione's own breath. Lew put her hands over Hermione's curled fingers. "Just breathe. Pretend that it's your heart beating."

Hermione took the ring back off and laid down facing Lew. She put her forehead against Lew's, letting Lew's breath become familiar, and then slipped back on the ring. The shift wasn't as dramatic; she could feel Lew's breath against her cheek, and the assault of her awareness was lessened. She imagined, as Lew had suggested, that the heartbeat was her own.

Lew's closeness was intoxicating. Hermione kissed Lew, letting the warm glow of Lew's love suffuse her. "I don't think that will help," Lew said when Hermione withdrew. "I never wore the ring around you. When you're distracted, it will be easier."

Hermione shook her head and kissed Lew again. "You feel so good."

Lew's desire changed, became rougher. Lew pressed herself against Hermione and Hermione stroked down her body. Lew's skin rippled and her desire changed again. _She wants me to touch her,_ Hermione realized. After spending the last hour holding herself back from really touching Lew, the revelation was a relief. She kissed Lew's lips and kept her hands moving, over her back and legs and hip, fingers light, and Lew shuddered against the touch, clinging to Hermione. Receiving, for one of the first times. Finally Lew pushed her away. "You have to go to London." Even her face looked different now.

Hermione slipped off the ring. Maybe there was more hope of touching Lew than she had thought. She just had to know the right times to try. "I will ask you if you need help," she said. "And you will tell me the truth."

Lew nodded, and then she watched Hermione dress. Hermione gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and Floo-ed to London to burn a dozen confused, animated corpses.

Lew was right: distance and distraction helped to diffuse the power of the ring. When it wasn't Hermione that was causing the emotions, it was much easier to disengage from them. Lew's presence in her chest was almost a comfort, although Hermione found herself snapping at Jeremy during a particularly strong flare of irritation, and spent the rest of the filthy slog apologizing for it. What had Lew been so irritated about?

When Jeremy was finished with a cleanup, he always went straight to the Leaky Cauldron and celebrated by drinking a single lager. Hermione had witnessed the desperate sight too many times to do it again, so she went back to her apartment and worked on a few outlines. Her mind kept circling back to Dane Teague. What exactly had he made Lew do? Did he have a plan that he was keeping from Lew - or that Lew was keeping from Hermione?

That night, Lew's emotions washed over her in confusing waves, mostly harsh, a foreign and uncomfortable mix of cruelty and disdain. When she realized that she was just listening to Lew, she cast the _Exurdus_ charm on herself, put down her pen and read a book. It wasn't entirely clear whether Hermione would be able to keep wearing the ring, but she wanted to give it a few days before she gave up.

Finally she slept. She woke in a jolt in the middle of the night. Waves of fear were drowning her, and she gasped through it, finally slipping off the ring. The relief was immense.

'Are you OK?' she whispered to Lew.

'Yes, I'm fine.' There was a pause. 'Sorry.'

'Come here, Lew.'

'Yes.'

When Lew stepped out of the fireplace, Hermione was waiting. Lew's hands were cold, and Hermione held her standing there. Lew was still in her robes, and they were wet, although it was not raining in Bristol. She must have been sleeping, though, near a fireplace. Hermione dismissed the puzzle, stripping off Lew's robes until she only had a thin layer of clothing, and then drew her into bed. She let Lew burrow into her chest, rubbing slow circles on her back, trying to warm her cold, clammy skin. Lew took a long time to calm, but Hermione kissed her head and rubbed her back until her breath evened out and she slept.

Hermione was suddenly guilty for leaving Lew alone for the last few nights. Lew had not had a nightmare on either night that she had stayed after Gringotts, and some part of Hermione had dismissed the dreams entirely. But of course they were still happening. If working for Dane Teague was so punishing, the nightmares might have even gotten worse. She couldn't let Lew suffer through it alone. Hadn't she just said today that she wanted Lew to be whole? It wasn't just physical danger that Hermione should protect Lew from. And it wasn't just external forces. Lew was fragile in all the ways Hermione was strong. And she was so precious to Hermione in that moment that she would have forgiven any fault, if just to hold her in sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

_Voldemort's defeat left a wizarding public that was paranoid. Stripped of Albus Dumbledore, the decisionmakers that remained were eager to show their decisiveness, their ability to do what needed to be done._

_First it was Fenrir Greyback. Then it was Vincent Crabbe, on a puffed-up charge. Then it was a string of minor dark wizards. The "special prison" was a new Azkaban, without the Dementors. The public loved the idea. They could even arrange to visit the detainees, if they were influential enough. It was a comfort to know that the Aurors had taken care of the problem of Death Eaters. Minor offenses went to a low-security prison. And life sentences went "special."_

* * *

The house appeared to be completely empty. It was perched on the hill, a forbidding monstrosity in the middle of the woods. The classic dwelling of a wizard, accessible only by magic, deliberately intimidating.

It had been a long broomstick ride here from Berlin, and Hermione rubbed her hands together to warm them. She hated broomsticks.

Jeremy was running through a series of spells, half of which Hermione recognized. One of the spells lit up the entire house, and through the windows Hermione finally saw figures moving. "What was that?"

"The - uhh -" Jeremy struggled. He forgot most of the spell names he used, using only the incantation. " _Agnosco habitaculum_ , it helps to identify the protections placed on a house." His thick accent was much easier for Hermione to piece together now.

" _Agnosco habitaculum_ ," Hermione repeated, and the glow around the house renewed. She was rewarded with a confusing mess of information. "Is that - Untraceable?"

"Mmm," Jeremy said. "But it is worn off. Just enough to leave a shadow. See?"

"What else?"

"Fire," Jeremy said, and he suddenly threw a massive fireball at the house. The fire hit the house with a resounding smash, and the fire fizzled out. "Not worn out."

"Too bad," Hermione remarked.

"You can only approach from the walkway," Jeremy continued.

"Were the Inferius always here?"

"Likely," Jeremy said. "The complaint was that they've been wandering. Maybe their time is through. Getting confused."

"How will we know?"

Jeremy shook his head. "Doesn't matter," he said.

Hermione couldn't see how it wouldn't matter, but she shrugged, accepting Jeremy's opinion. "Will we go now?"

Jeremy squinted up at the sky. "Too late," he said. "Go home. Rest. Meet here just after dawn. I will pick up some explosives." He said the last word with relish. Jeremy loved Muggle explosives.

"Is there anything I should get?" Hermione asked.

As always, Jeremy shook his head. "No. Just help."

Hermione Apparated to an abandoned Muggle house in London and then Floo-ed home, her usual trip. 'Can you come here?' she asked Lew.

'Tonight,' Lew promised.

Lew's emotions that night were stifling, overwhelming. She was horrified, and afraid, and reluctant. For the first time, Hermione felt a pulse of danger from the ring, but Lew assured her that she was fine.

'I have to take it off,' she finally confessed. The emotions were too oppressive, too close to the pain Hermione was trying to put behind her.

'Please,' Lew said, and Hermione dropped out of Lew's consciousness. Finally she could concentrate.

When Lew arrived that night, dripping wet once again, she was strange, shaking. There was blood on her neck, staining her white undergarments, and Hermione stripped those off too, wiping the blood with a dark towel as Lew washed her trembling hands. Hermione bit her tongue against the questions, drawing her to bed, warming her hands between her thighs. She ran her fingers through Lew's tangled, wet hair and rubbed her back.

Finally, Lew said, "Blood magic."

Hermione let the words sink in, appalled. "Talk to me," she said. "Just tell me what happened."

"I don't like it, Mio," Lew said instead. "I hate it."

"I know, Lew," Hermione said.

"I think he - made this one up," Lew struggled. "Just to make me."

Hermione took a deep breath, let it out. "Make you what?"

Lew shook her head and flattened her body against Hermione's. Hermione wanted to push her away, to make her explain what she had meant. To make her explain that no, Teague did not force Lew to perform blood magic. But Lew knew what she had implied, and she said nothing to retract it.

"Dammit, Lew," Hermione finally said. "Don't do it."

"It would have been a bad time," Lew said.

"We need a plan."

"Leave the Aurors," Lew repeated, and Hermione felt a flare of anger. How could Lew imply that Hermione was the reason she had used dark magic? It was absolutely unfair.

"I have promised myself to the Aurors for the next four and a half years, Lew. Do you want me to be a criminal?"

"People have left the Aurors before. Tell them that you're traumatized by - some zombie thing -"

Hermione smiled a little at that, and then she remembered her old plan. Maternity leave. The remembrance was a sick wave, devastating. She kissed Lew's face and let the tears fall, bitter, wrapped up with Lew's pain and her trespasses. Was Lew evil for what she had just done? Was it any worse than what she had done to Hermione, so many months ago? "Maybe we will have to wait for a particularly traumatic incident, then," Hermione said after the well had depleted. "If I say I dislike the zombies, they will just transfer me."

Lew nodded, and then looked at Hermione, her face still strange in the lamplight. "What about Gringotts?"

It was the first time the word had been spoken between them, and it held in the air. "The goblins haven't admitted that anything happened. I would rather that it not become public knowledge."

"It won't," Lew said. "They will never admit that a single witch could do such damage in the middle of the most secure bank in the world."

"Right," Hermione said, and then she remembered the wrinkled faces, distorted in fear and pain. The blood, a slick carpet on the marble floor. If she hadn't done it, the medics from St. Mungo's wouldn't have been able to enter the building at all. That was, of course, why they were so late to begin with. Hermione would have been trapped, possibly forever, in Gringotts. By the time she killed her first goblin, the decision to do so had already been made - it was the only reason she was there at all. And if the nurses had saved her pregnancy, she wouldn't have been able to go to Gringotts and save herself. The inevitability of the course nonsensically freed Hermione of the responsibility for her rage-driven decisionmaking.

"You can still tell the High Council. Tell them that you're worried it will happen again. That you need time to recover."

"They will know how I abused the Time Turner. And they will know -" _about the baby_. She couldn't say the words.

"We can remove that from the memory." Lew was talking about showing the memory using a Pensieve. It was a good idea.

"I can't," Hermione said, temporarily overwhelmed. "They will not understand why I did it. It would make no sense."

"Don't you want the memory gone?" Lew said softly, and Hermione started crying again. Lew had no idea what memory she was actually talking about. St. Mungo's had revived Hermione for the delivery, an experience both precious and horrible, one that Hermione would never willingly erase. Hermione had not imagined that the baby could be so large, so close to alive. She had lost track of the number of days she exceeded the 6-hour daily limit for the Time Turner.

"No," Hermione managed. "It will still hurt."

"OK," Lew said softly, and stroked Hermione's hair. "OK," she repeated, kissing the tears from Hermione's cheeks.

"We need - I need to save you, Lew. He would have just complicated things." Hermione was ready to admit this much.

Lew froze at her words. Had she not known that their baby was male? It felt strange to tell her like this. The gendered pronoun made the child real, not "it" anymore. Lew's body relaxed slowly, piece by piece, starting with her hands and all the way to her calves. When every part of her was relaxed, she said, " _He_ would have been something worth fighting for."

"I am something worth fighting for," Hermione said fiercely.

"Both of you," Lew said, and she started crying, too. They clung to each other, mourning, united in their misery. It would have been easy for Hermione to regret what she had done in Gringotts, but she retained her fury and pain. She couldn't pretend remorse, not to the High Council, not to herself. So how could she testify to them about it? There was no removing the massacre from what had sparked it.

But she had to leave the Aurors. This much was painfully obvious. How would they accomplish it?

Lew's shaking woke Hermione in the night, and she woke Lew with kisses. Lew's skin was blue in the moonlight. She was sweating, her naked skin cold despite the blankets, and Hermione kissed her deeply, rolling her on her back. Lew let Hermione settle a leg between hers, and Hermione caressed her carefully, waiting for the flinch. It never came, and Hermione's body thirsted for Lew. She found herself rubbing rhythmically through her clothes, breath fast and hard, and Lew arched her back, responding. Hermione moved to her breast and sucked gently, and Lew gasped, "Make me clean, baby."

Hermione slipped a hand between them, under Lew's panties, and contacted her wetness. She kissed Lew and let her fingers move, wide circles, searching and finding. Lew was quiet, her hands stilled, her kiss uncertain. "You feel so good," Hermione breathed, the words from the day before, granted new meaning.

"I love you, Hermione," Lew said, and then her hips twitched forward and Hermione was grinding again, catching her own rhythm. Lew slipped her own hand between Hermione's legs and Hermione collapsed for a moment, the sensation overwhelming.

"I love you. Yes," Hermione moaned. Her fingers renewed, pressing harder.

"Not inside," Lew said, and Hermione pulled her hand back up. She had assumed as much, but Lew's body was drawing her in, welcoming.

"Fuck," Hermione said, and ground harder on Lew's fingers. "Yes," she said as Lew slipped one finger gently inside.

"That's it," Lew said, stronger now. "Come for me. Ride my finger."

Hermione was frustrated. The pressure was slight, teasing at her entrance, imperceptible inside. She focused on her own fingers, letting Lew's gasping breath fill her mind, listening to the signals. And she thrust her hips, hard, into Lew's hand. Could she come like this, with such slight stimulation?

Lew was letting Hermione do the work, keeping her hand still. Suddenly she jerked, holding her breath, and Hermione kept her finger circling that spot, contacting Lew's soft nub on each pass. Lew blew out a frustrated breath and grabbed Hermione's hip. "Don't stop moving." She thrust her finger harder, finally, and Hermione's body blossomed into her hand, the orgasm unexpected. Lew pushed Hermione's hand away and slipped down in the bed, putting two fingers into Hermione, her attention completely consumed by Hermione's body. Hermione kept her hands on the mattress, holding herself up, barely. Lew nursed the high, and then pushed Hermione higher, her fingers moving with skill, skipping over Hermione's clit, stroking her inside.

And then it was over, and Hermione moved down in the bed to clasp Lew's head against her heart, between her breasts. "You weren't supposed to do that."

"Piracy," Lew mumbled, and Hermione kissed her lips, still lightheaded. They smiled together for a few moments.

"I should keep moving," Hermione repeated. "My body."

Lew tipped her head, thoughtful. "I was thinking about you. About how easy it would have been to give you what you wanted. How I could keep it from you, and your body could beg for it. Every time you thrust I was so close to stroking you. But I loved the wanting, the begging. And then you stopped."

"I was focused on you," Hermione tried to explain. "I still wanted you."

"So when you focused on me, _I_ focused on me. And then it was gone."

Hermione nodded, understanding. "Let's try again."

* * *

The mansion looked no different in the morning light than it had in the afternoon. It sulked away from the sun, making its own gloomy cloud in the otherwise clear sky.

Jeremy was cheerful, excited for the latest conquest. He carried a Muggle bomb in each hand. "Remember, put up your shielding charm the moment I say, 'Fire!'" This was the word he always used.

"Sure," Hermione acknowledged, distracted. It felt too early to be plunging into the depths of an infested house. Her left arm was aching for an unknown reason. Lew had not told her what Teague was making her do, and her irritation was compounded by an acerbic frustration from Lew, leaving an aftertaste like hatred in Hermione's throat. This was the worst feeling. She spun the ring angrily on her finger, playing with the idea of taking it off again. This was not the mindset to be entering a fight in.

Jeremy was already trundling toward the house, though, and Hermione trailed him, still spinning the ring. She barely remembered to run through her list of fire spells before he opened the door and stepped inside.

The house itself was fireproof, but the creatures within it were not. They grumbled something, a garbled message, as Hermione methodically cut through them. The first hundred Inferius she had destroyed disgusted her. The second hundred had made her think about death, in its many incarnations, and life as a more fragile, fleshier version of death. Now, the creatures just bored her.

Finally, one of the Inferius was able to adequately pronounce its message. "You will not take the gem," it said, eyes rolling.

Hermione rolled her eyes back at it. "Jeremy," she started.

"Fire!" he yelled cheerily, and Hermione put up her shield in time for the explosion. It washed over the shield, leaving the scent of overcooked, stale meat and a feeling of suffocation. Hermione took the step to the door and breathed, feeling the air outside rush back into the vacuum of oxygen that the explosion had left.

Jeremy ignored the stifling entirely. "Jeremy," Hermione started again. "They're protecting a gem."

"Oh," Jeremy said. "Let's find it." Jeremy's philosophy on Inferius' objectives was that completing them nearly always aided the fight. Hermione found the effort tiresome, but respected Jeremy enough that she went along with it.

The basement was the first place to check, and Jeremy took the lead, kicking through the gruesome, broken bodies as he descended. There was a small chest in the otherwise empty room. A few shambling corpses followed Hermione down the stairs, but she dispatched them quickly. It occurred to her that the fight had done nothing to alleviate the tight fury in her chest. It must be Lew's. She decided to take the ring off at the next opportunity.

Jeremy opened the chest. There was nothing inside. "Oh, well," Jeremy had time to say, and then he was lifted off his feet.

Hermione felt long tendrils trap her wrists, twisting away her wand and then moving quicker than she could twitch away, up her arms, pulling her off the ground. The tendrils were thin, and cold, and the harder she struggled the tighter they dug into her flesh, up to her shoulders. She felt the same tendrils start around her ankles, and tried to pull away, hearing a brittle scream escape her lips.

The scream was met by a similar sound from Jeremy, but his ended in a wet gurgle. She looked up to see his body fall limply to the floor, the limbs slapping strangely. One of his hands had fallen a few inches away from the stump of his arm. She felt the wires around her arms constrict again, and then she screamed and pulled hard on the tether that bound her ring's to Lew's for the first time.

It was gut-wrenching, different from Apparition. It was closer to flying, a crazy leap that brought her through the floors of the house, through the ceiling, and then over the forest and up into the sky. At the height of the leap she could see the Atlantic Ocean. And then she was plunging down, a dizzying fall that ended unexpectedly in a the wine cellar of a vineyard in France.

Lew was standing with a man who had his back turned to Hermione. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, and then Lew looked up and met her eyes. 'Hide,' she said into Hermione's mind, her face impassive.

Hermione turned away from her, rounding a corner. The wall was lined with jail cells, thick metal cages that each contained a single person. Hermione could see their lips moving, but no sound penetrated the cell walls. Their faces were filled with pain and fear. She could not look at their filthy and broken bodies.

Hermione put her hand on one of the metal bars and pushed hard against it. Her fingers were covered in fresh, red blood - not the blood of the Inferius, but her own. " _Diffindo_ ," she whispered. Useless. Hermione had never cast anything more complex than a levitation spell wandless. She looked around for something else to use, and then Lew's voice carried down the corridor and Hermione ran, hating herself for it. "I am certain that the Malfoys would agree that it should be used."

She took the first left away from Lew and her unknown companion, and then waited, listening. 'I don't have my wand,' Hermione said shortly to Lew, and Lew's voice paused briefly before continuing. Something about a chestplate, irrelevant noise. Finally Lew dismissed the other speaker, and he went, thankfully in the other direction. Hermione could hear quick steps, and she met Lew in the gruesome hallway.

They both hesitated. 'Were you giving that person orders?' Hermione asked.

'Let me help you,' Lew said sharply. Hermione felt a flare of true irritation from her, and despite herself she slipped the ring off, putting it in her pocket. It was too much, with Lew there.

'Jeremy is dying.' Hermione said, and marched to Lew. "Give me your wand," she hissed out loud, and wrenched it out of Lew's hand. The wand reluctantly accepted her control. Then she looked deliberately around, imprinting this location in her memory, the long line of cells facing the stacked wine barrels. She took Lew's hand and spun into empty space.

When they arrived at the mansion, Hermione said immediately, " _Accio wand._ " There was no effect.

"Bloody enchanted houses," she said, already taking the steps at a run.

"Wait," Lew called after her. "This is - I know what this is. You can't go back in there."

"Jeremy is dying," Hermione said.

Lew looked up at the house, rising imposingly behind Hermione. " _Homenum Revelio_ ," she said, and then looked down at Hermione, lip twisting.

" _Inferius Revelio,_ " Hermione countered, and a cluster of lights flickered in the house. " _Homenum Revelio,_ " she repeated. Nothing. She swallowed thickly. "I have to get his body."

"It's a trap meant for you," Lew said. "You're bleeding. Let me -"

"What do you mean, a trap? Explain yourself."

Lew squinted. Hermione could count the number of times she'd seen Lew in the sunlight. It looked strange. She looked darker than she should, like the house. Ever in shadow.

"I wasn't sure when it would happen. I was going to ask you last night, but - it -"

"Stop. What is it?"

"I have been meeting with my old - colleagues? From Gringotts. Trying to figure out what the goblins plan to do to you."

"And?"

"None would say, and I think most didn't know anything happened. But one of them said he's been putting together a new colony, and I thought maybe -"

"You think this is the goblins?"

"It is," Lew said. "You were caught by the wire trap. They call it Meat Slicer." She had bridged the distance between them, and turned Hermione's hand up, revealing an ugly, thick cut through her arm, oozing blood. She pressed her fingers painfully against the inside of Hermione's upper arm, and the hand came away wet. "You are losing a lot of blood. Let me -"

"We're going back to that vineyard," Hermione said sharply, and grabbed Lew's hand. She tried to Apparate, but it was like hitting a dull, flat wall, painful. "It's protected," Hermione said bitterly. She finally gave Lew back her wand. "You."

"No," Lew said. "This isn't the time to move."

"Who are those people?"

Lew swallowed, wincing. "Muggles."

"What are you doing to them?"

" _I'm_ not. It's Teague."

"Explain. Everything."

"I told you, he's making me do things I disagree with. Can you please leave it alone?"

"Look at where we are now. Jeremy is dead. Five Muggles are being tortured. You brought us here." Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line. "And you _still_ haven't learned to tell me the truth. Are those the Muggles you've been using for blood magic?"

"Not… exactly."

"Exactly what are they?"

"Sacrifices," Lew whispered.

Hermione took Lew's wand out of her loose grip. She was numb. "Why are you torturing them?"

"It makes the process more effective. I didn't want this, Hermione. I tried to stop it. I tried to help them escape, but he just replaces them. There are plenty of Muggles, Hermione. These ones -"

"They could be your parents, Lew." Lew's eyes hardened. "Or mine," Hermione said, raising her eyebrows.

"I don't want to kill them," Lew said. The muscles in her jaw were twitching, but her eyes remained cold. Hermione remembered her touch last night. It could have been a different person, standing before her now. Lew's voice was emotionless, and Hermione imagined for a moment that her eyes were black, the raven's eyes.

"I can't do this," Hermione said finally, tearing her eyes away from Lew's. "I can't love you."

"Please," Lew said. Hermione pressed her ring and the wand into her hand, and then spun with her to the abandoned Muggle house. She took a handful of the Floo powder and stepped into the green flames, leaving Lew behind. She would get her backup wand from home, go to Grasia and get healed, and then she would take whatever Aurors would come to the mansion to retrieve Jeremy's body. She could do these things without Lew's help.

In fact, Lew had actually done nothing to help her. She had been a distraction, a hindrance. Lew had gotten herself into a situation that she could not escape from. It was not Hermione's doing. She owed nothing to Lew.


	18. Chapter 18

His skin was red, but his face was peaceful with the blankets like a halo around him. Hermione kissed his face and he stirred, squawking sleepily in her arms. His breath fell with hers. He was so fragile, but in her arms he was protected. She would not move until he was safe. She needed nothing else, but to keep him alive.

She didn't know who took him, but when she woke up he was a ghost in her arms. It took a moment to remember that he was never there at all. And then she turned to Lew, finding empty blankets in her place.

She waited a long time for her heart to stop, but against reason it did not. When the owl rapped at her window, she pulled herself out of bed and let it into her room, offering it a bowl of snacks. She detached the slip of paper. It read only, 'The Three Broomsticks at 9am? -Bill Weasley.'

She already had an appointment at 9am with Kingsley Shacklebolt, so she crossed out his message and wrote under it, 'Tomorrow, yes. -H.' She needed to send him a phone.

She let the owl return to its master, and then stood at the window, fixated on the tree outside. It was March, and there were a million tiny buds on the tree, ready for the spring. Hermione was the opposite of the tree. Withering away.

Which version of Lew was true? The cold statue that Hermione had left behind in the Muggle house, or the one she had held in her bed the night before? Lew was lying then, too. She hadn't bothered to tell Hermione about the goblins. Why didn't she? It would have been so easy.

Lew was right about the goblin traps, at least. The two of them, one wandless, would never have been a match for them. Even the posse of Aurors Hermione had gathered were not confident in tackling the traps. Eventually they levitated Jeremy's body, piece by piece, avoiding entering the room at all. They had retrieved his and Hermione's wand, and sent out the owls to his family.

Hermione rubbed the deep scar the trap had left on her wrist, twisting around her arm in a gruesome design. The scars would likely fade in time. She clenched her fist, reveling in the quick stab of anger. It was a relief from the emptiness. If Lew had just said that the goblins were trapping a house for Hermione, Jeremy might still be alive.

Everything was easier without Lew. Hermione sat on her bed and let the kitten rub against her hand. She picked her up. "We won't miss her," she said to her. "We gave her two more chances, didn't we?" The kitten looked seriously back at her. "Chances she didn't deserve in the first place. How many more can we give her?" The words felt hollow. Hermione hadn't deliberately given Lew the chance to act morally. She had just let her back in, somehow failing to imagine the depth of Lew's defects. Lew was irreparably scarred, broken. It would not be Hermione that saved her. Lew just made Hermione her victim.

The memory of Lew in sleep intruded on Hermione. The emotions she had felt last night, the desire to shelter, to protect, now seemed entirely foreign to her. Lew had killed a Muggle just hours before that - yes, reluctantly, in horror. But the blood Hermione had wiped off her neck had been the blood of the dead. There was no releasing Lew from the responsibility for that murder.

And Lew had implied that it was unnecessary. _I think he made this one up. Just to make me._ How many times had Lew done this "process"? Had it started the day Hermione had finally given Lew Teague's message?

Hermione released the kitten, allowing her to scramble away. The kitten was still small, but growing fast. When Hermione left her flat, the service Harry had bought would Floo in and take the kitten to their playground. She felt no guilt over her entrapment.

* * *

Familiar tousled black hair met Hermione's eyes as she entered the Minister of Magic's office. Harry turned toward her, and Hermione let a smile break over her face. "I didn't know you'd be here," he said, and quickly hugged her. It had been more than a month since they had seen each other.

Hermione took the other seat across from Shacklebolt's desk. "I'm happy to be of service," she said to him. Hermione had not spoken frequently to the Minister of Magic, and wasn't sure exactly what their relationship was.

"Thank you," Shacklebolt said, and then he stood, circling his desk. "I have called you both here because I have observed a disturbing development from the Aurors. I trust you both, and of course I would never ask you to be my _agents_. However, your position within the organization is invaluable. Instead, I would like to this of this as a _collaboration_." He spoke very deliberately, and Hermione wondered if he had practiced the speech. Each word was important. "I will tell you what I've observed, and I suspect that you will be just as disturbed as I am."

Harry said, "Minister, I joined the Aurors because I wanted to make a difference. Please, tell me what you've seen."

Shacklebolt's eyes turned to Hermione, and she said, "I feel the same."

"I would prefer for this relationship to remain… implicit," Shacklebolt said.

"Of course," Hermione said, and Harry nodded. Hermione kept her eyes from meeting Harry's. She was suddenly certain that Ginny had shared her confidence with him. What would Harry think about it? She cursed herself for being stupidly impelled to share the details of her relationship with Ginny. _I never thought I could love anyone this much_ , she'd said. Meaningless, useless words.

Shacklebolt was speaking. "You have both heard about the new 'special prison,' have you not? What can you tell me about it?"

Hermione spoke first. "I met Greyback after he was committed. He seemed calmer. They have said that the special prison is rehabilitatory, and I can believe that."

"I met him, too," Shacklebolt said. "In fact, I put an invisible tracer on him and followed him personally back to the special prison. It was a Muggle mental ward."

Hermione jumped a little. Harry said, "That doesn't make any sense."

"It's true," Shacklebolt said. "Can you imagine. A werewolf, known to aggressively recruit, entrusted to Muggle caretakers."

"Was Crabbe there, too?" Hermione asked.

"No," Shacklebolt said.

"The rehabilitation is not supposed to be…" Hermione stopped. "That doesn't make any sense."

"No," Shacklebolt agreed. "It doesn't."

"Imperius?" Harry suggested.

Shacklebolt nodded. "That is what I suspect, too. If the Auror High Council is using Imperius for life sentences - it would be incredibly short-sighted of them, to start. But it is also not acceptable. A werewolf! If he broke the Curse even for a moment…."

"Not to mention that it is Unforgivable," Hermione added. Greyback was the first to be committed to the "special prison." It had happened only a few months ago.

"Can you two please -"

"Of course," Harry interrupted. "Of course we will look into it. I just never thought… I suppose I just want to trust them more than that."

"It seemed like a better solution than the death sentence," Hermione said.

"That is the question, isn't it? If we aren't able to make the special prison work, that is the only alternative."

"It was too good to be true," Hermione said.

"I very much appreciate your assistance in this matter," Shacklebolt said, and circled his desk. "Please, feel free to owl or drop in at every opportunity. And watch yourselves. One of my door guards was recently found murdered, perhaps over this very matter."

Harry and Hermione walked in silence to the lift, and Harry watched Hermione with a slight smile all the way up to the top floor. "Would you like to meet Cecilia?" Hermione asked finally.

"Very much," Harry said, and they Floo-ed to Hermione's flat. Harry spent some time reacquainting himself with the kitten, and then he sat in the far armchair, the mysterious smile still on his face.

"How are you? What has been happening?" he asked finally.

"Fine. Nothing is happening," Hermione said glumly, waiting for the inevitable questions.

"Have you seen Lucy Cunningham lately?" Harry asked innocently.

"Obviously," Hermione snapped.

Harry looked hurt. "I'm happy for you, Hermione."

"Thank you," Hermione said shortly. "How is Mercy?"

"Triumphant," Harry said. "In two years I will be able to tell you what happened. It was glorious."

"Jeremy is dead."

"What?" Harry jumped partially out of his seat. "When? Why?"

 _Goblins_ , Hermione thought. She wanted to explain everything. Instead, she said, "A clever series of traps around an already-stolen gem. The wire trap caught both of our wands. I barely was able to Apparate away." She had needed to build that detail into her story, and was now obligated to learn how to Apparate wandless, a feat previously unknown to the wizarding world. Her progress so far was completely dismal.

"That's terrible. Where will you go?" His eyes glinted. "Lew doesn't have a partner, does she?"

"Lew," Hermione spat. "Lew is working for Dane Teague. It's not a field position."

Harry frowned. "What's it, then?"

"She's his personal spymaster, or something. I don't know. It seems like they will keep me on the Inferi, for now. Nobody else is doing it."

"Too bad. You hate them."

"It doesn't matter." She remembered the dream, her son's tiny body against her chest, and wondered if she would ever feel that again.

She had failed him. That was the meaning of her dream. All she needed to do was hold him and keep him safe. She had forgotten him, somehow, the one thing that had mattered. She should never have gone to Gringotts.

"Are you OK, Hermione?"

"No," Hermione said, and turned toward the mantle. There was a single photo: her family, over the New Year. It was a Muggle photo.

She had still not told them about what happened. It had been just over a week. She wasn't sure how long would be long enough before she would be able to speak the words.

Harry came up beside her and studied the photo. "You look sad there, too," he observed.

"I miss Hogwarts." The words were unexpected, but true.

"Me too, Hermione. The real world sucks."

"So much," Hermione agreed, and leaned into him. He put his arm around her, and the comfort was almost enough to break through Hermione's shell. Almost.

* * *

Hermione had never spoken to Bill Weasley directly before. He was just one of Ron's brothers, present only during the holidays. She waited nervously for him, checking her watch. He arrived at 9:04, and she waited for him to get coffee.

This was about Lew, of course. Hermione hated that Lew had gotten Bill involved.

Bill spoke first. "Thank you for making the time," he said.

"It's Sunday morning. A good day for coffee," Hermione said reasonably. "What was it that you wanted to talk about?"

Bill fiddled with his mug. "I saw Lew Friday night," he said slowly. "You know we're friends, right?"

Hermione's throat tightened. "Yes," she said shortly.

"I feel like - Lew doesn't have many people who would speak for her. I know her pretty well. She didn't say what happened, but - I could tell it was you."

Hermione's lip twitched. "So she's upset."

"She's a good person, or she tries hard to be. You have to know that."

"You don't know what she's been doing," Hermione said, sharper than she intended.

"I don't, but - she has never been a dark witch. There were plenty of times that it would have made sense for her to go dark, but she never has."

"Now she has."

Bill shook his head at that, unbelieving. "That doesn't make any sense. Now she has you."

"She doesn't care about me," Hermione said, the words tasting like a lie. "She said that her boss forced her to perform dark magic, or he would hurt me. Who would do that? She could have told me. There is always a way."

"OK, I know about this part. You weren't speaking to her then."

"Do you know why?"

Bill hesitated, and then shook his head. "She said that she was going to gather dirt on him, from the inside. As an Auror. She wants to take him down."

"She is so…" Hermione grasped for words. "What he asked her to do? She should have known that there was no going back. She should have died before doing that for him."

"I can't imagine what I would do if it were Fleur that was threatened," Bill said simply. "I mean, I can. But Lew is different from us, Hermione. She would not consider it an unreasonable bargain. She doesn't value her own, um…"

"Herself. She doesn't value herself." Hermione was furious. "I can't do this with her any more, this constant song and dance, the half-truths. It is always, _always_ worse than she admits. It's like a... never-ending… staircase. I always think I've hit the bottom. And then it gets worse. Every day."

"You're her only chance," Bill said.

"She's pretty enough. She can find another chance." Hogwarts was not so far from Hermione's mind that she hasn't considered Lew's schooltime. Lew must have played Quidditch. With her sharp intelligence and tight, efficient body - she must have been every girl's tantilizing taste of the forbidden. She certainly knew what she was doing when she touched Hermione. The mechanics of the act were never in question.

"She doesn't date. I've never seen her with anyone. You are different, for her."

This was new. "Different how?" Hermione said without thinking.

"She doesn't know love. But she loves you. She's trying. Give her a chance."

" _Chances_ ," Hermione said. "How many chances should I give her?" She was tearing up, but she didn't break eye contact with Bill.

"I don't know," Bill said finally. "It's got to be hard. But she's gone, now. I tried to talk her out of it. I think she went back to New Orleans. I can't reach her at all."

"I can," Hermione said.

"I know," Bill said. "I don't know what she's going to do."

"She will come back to Teague," Hermione said. "She has to 'protect' me." It was a bitter admission, guilty.

"She won't make her case to you. But I can. Take her back. Help her to take him down."

"I can't," Hermione said. "She's too - she's hurt me too many times. I can't take her back again."

"Just consider it, then." Bill stood, his coffee untouched, and brought it back to the bar. "Best of luck with Gringotts."

Hermione nodded sharply. Lew had told Bill, and hadn't told her. Unbelievable.

It was only when she reached her apartment that she felt the phone in her pocket, meant for Bill. She tossed it onto the desk and collapsed on the bed.

Bill's words had given her hope. She imagined asking Lew to come back to her, remembering these same sheets tangled between their bodies, the softness of Lew's heart in Hermione's chest. _You love me. I want to make you whole._

Was it Lew's lies that had torn them apart again? Or was it the truth, finally spoken? Of course it had taken Lew a few days to tell Hermione what Teague was making her do. Lew must have known that Hermione might not forgive this. And Hermione's response had been worse than Lew must have imagined, or she would have never told the truth.

Hermione remembered the turmoil in Lew when she had confronted her about the rings. The horrible fear. It was more than a fear of losing Hermione. It was a fear of losing herself, over a sin committed months ago, a sin she knew and regretted.

If only Lew hadn't done those things. If she had just retained her - what? The serenity that had drawn Hermione to Lew in the beginning. The sense of confidence, of rightness. Lew was helpless, buffeted by forces beyond her. She was the raven, waiting for one moment too long on a crag outside of Azkaban.

Hermione felt certain that she was about to be consumed. She was so utterly alone.

She touched Lew's mind, and was blown back by a wave of 'No. Let me be.'

"Fine," Hermione spat back at her, and then she turned into her pillow and finally cried.


	19. Chapter 19

"Sir! Sir," Hermione called, catching up to John Dawlish. "I just ended my shift at the prison, and I thought I needed to do a shift at the special prison. Where was I supposed to go?"

Dawlish raised a cool eyebrow at Hermione. "You're doing a shift at the special prison?"

"Yes, that was what I was told."

Dawlish hummed. "Yes, right. The Portkey leaves at three. Look for the cutlery."

Hermione checked her watch. It was 2:45. "I better run, then," she said, thanking every lucky star.

"Wait," Dawlish said, and Hermione's heart leapt into her throat. She turned slowly. "Be careful. I don't trust that process Teague has endorsed. The demonstration they gave us was… suspect. Crystals? I consider it entirely untested. And remember, you're Crabbe's sister."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said, and then she jogged to the Apparition hill, found the spoon, and spun away to the woods. There was a large white mansion perched on the hill. _The process,_ Hermione thought to herself, and took out her phone. The words were familiar.

"I was right, Harry. They do have shifts on the specials, too."

"That's great, Hermione. Are you there?"

"Yes," Hermione said, and spun the phone so that Harry could see the facility. It was nice, at least. "The Portkey leaves at three, always a piece of cutlery. There wasn't anyone else there. I'm guessing they have someone here already."

"Or they were on the outside, and Apparated there."

"Right," Hermione said. In fact, someone was approaching the mansion on foot at that moment.

Hermione didn't hesitate. Relying on the Muggles in the mental ward not to be looking out the windows, she Apparated directly behind the figure. As the man turned, she said, " _Stupefy_."

The man collapsed in a heap, and Hermione Apparated the unconscious body away. It was, as she suspected, a member of the Auror High Council. Tonks had called him Proudfoot, but Hermione knew him as Theo. She cast another Stunning Hex on him and then took the stairs, considerably more confident.

It was just a few minutes later that she was sitting across from Vincent Crabbe. He stared back at her.

"Hermione Granger," he said slowly.

"Can you tell me what has happened to you?" Hermione said, careful to fully pronounce every word.

"Yes," he said, and then his forehead crinkled in a familiar expression of confusion. "Maybe. Parts are gone."

"What do you remember?"

"I was caught, imprisoned, judged. They called me a life sentence. Then a man called Teague. He took me from the jail. I remember lines of wooden casks. I don't know what they were for. And a witch." _The process._ Crabbe didn't need to describe the witch. Hermione already knew who she was.

"Haven't you met with your parents?"

"Imperius," Crabbe said softly, and then he reached for Hermione, straining. "Let me have your wand."

"No," Hermione said, snatching it away.

"Help me."

"I want to help you. But you can't have my wand." The request made no sense.

"I think it's gone."

"What is gone?" Hermione asked sharply.

"The magic."

* * *

'Come here,' Hermione pled.

It was a long wait before Lew returned, 'I can't.'

'Come here, Lew.'

'You haven't told anyone that you're leaving.'

'I know what you've been doing. Theo is under the Stunning Hex outside of St. Andrew's right now. I don't know how long we have.'

'I can't see you.'

'I am going to tell Kingsley Shacklebolt everything. Come here.' Hermione waited for endless moments, counting each second as it ticked by. 'I don't want to catch you in the net.'

'I _am_ the net.'

'That made no sense.'

'There's nothing to catch but me, Hermione.'

'Come here. Right now. I need to see you.'

'I can't see you,' Lew repeated.

Hermione saw a quick series of images. Herself, releasing Lew's hand, disappearing into the Floo chimney. Her face when she pushed Lew away, after Lew retrieved her soul. And a vision that hadn't happened yet. The two of them, Hermione standing, Lew sitting, in Hermione's room. Hermione was unbridgeable, distant, so separate. "It's intolerable," Hermione spoke out loud, Lew's thought. 'Did you cast the Imperius? When you were demonstrating the… process?'

'My Imperius is terrible. I hate the spell. No.'

'You could have just told Teague that you wouldn't do it. Damn the consequences.'

'He said he could send you into an assignment that you wouldn't survive. I believed him.'

'You didn't trust me to take care of myself.'

The chimney flared green, and then Lew stepped through. She was porcelain, breathtakingly beautiful. "Against Dane Teague? Someone you considered your ally?" Lew hesitated, and then took the seat at the desk, the same as in the vision. She was small, hunched against the furniture. "I knew that it would come apart." Her jaw worked, released, and then snapped shut again. "Every moment in your arms was worth it. Even this."

"What would come apart? Our relationship?"

"Yes. Everything. Teague's plan. It seemed destined to fail. But it doesn't matter to him. He is untouchable."

"Whose vineyard is that?"

"His," Lew said, her eyes darting to meet Hermione's. She leaned forward, putting her hand on the desk.

"He didn't cast the Memory Charm on those Muggles, did he?"

"That would negate the entire point."

"Let's get them." Hermione took the step to Lew and put her hand on Lew's. "Come here, Lew."

Lew stood, turning her hand into Hermione's. Hermione had just let her hand settle on Lew's hip before they were spinning away, into a forest. The ground still had patches of snow on it. Hermione kissed Lew, and the kiss tasted strange. "I love you," Lew whispered into her lips. She had smoke on her breath.

"I love you, too," Hermione said. "Stop being stupid."

"Yes," Lew said, and kissed her again, harder. "This is the end."

"We are going to get you out of this," Hermione promised her.

"Hermione, no matter what happens, please know that I love you."

"I know," Hermione said, and looked at the winery, just beyond the vineyard. The vines were bare, skeletal and still. She took her phone out. "Harry? Where are you. I'm coming to get you."

They coordinated quickly, and then Hermione left Lew in the forest. She returned with Harry, and then Ginny. They tried Jonah as well, but he was unwilling to drop everything.

Harry shook Lew's hand warmly when he saw her, and by the time Hermione returned with Ginny it seemed that Harry was up to speed. "If the… process is actually effective, should be easy to show that it strips the victims of their magic."

"The High Council knows," Lew said, flicking the ash off a cigarette. "It's just that we performed the process before the demonstrations. We kept them -"

"Under Imperius, right," Hermione interrupted. "The High Council actually agreed to stripping people of their magic?"

"It's not as bad as Azkaban," Harry pointed out.

Lew looked uncomfortable. Maybe she hadn't finished explaining everything.

Hermione glared at her. "It's possible that none of the victims actually remember the process used to strip them of their magic."

"Only I and Teague know everything that is involved," Lew said.

"And me," Hermione said.

"The Muggles will struggle," Lew said.

Hermione shook her head. "We need to know why you tortured them."

"The process is a - dark magic - method. Called spirit taming. It's really just pointing the spirit at a wizard's - psyche, giving it the tools to do the job we - the wizard wants. But some spirits don't have enough hatred, or don't understand what they are supposed to do. Each spirit is different. The torture… smooths results. Is what Teague said," Lew added. She was uncomfortable.

"Spirit taming," Ginny repeated, and then she turned and threw up. "I don't know if I can do this."

"None of the bodies are there," Lew said quickly. "Or the remnants. We did it somewhere else."

"Bodies?" Harry was the last to understand.

"Releasing the spirit requires destroying the body." Lew's voice was emotionless now, her eyes cold. This was the icy indifference that had so horrified Hermione, and she pushed away her own discomfort.

"Teague forced her to do this," Hermione said. "We are going to expose it. Lew is going to admit to everything, and Teague will fall. I think showing the Muggles, and where they were held, should be enough to discredit him. They will remember Teague."

Finally Harry looked away from Lew, back to Hermione. "No one believes Muggles."

"And no one will believe me. That's why I brought you both."

Harry hesitated, and then nodded. He looked at Lew. "I don't know how much I can do to help you, but I can witness."

Ginny nodded, her eyes still teary from the vomit.

Hermione smiled grimly at them, and then she looked at Lew. "No more lies. Is there anything else we need to know?"

Lew shook her head shortly, her eyes darting to Harry and Ginny.

"Anything else that might be relevant?"

"Vincent Crabbe also claimed that he was forced to perform dark magic," Lew said.

"So did the Malfoys."

"I am an American Muggleborn."

"Exposing someone on the High Council. Turning sides. It should be enough to grant you some immunity."

Lew shrugged and turned toward the winery. "Let's go."

Hermione picked up the cigarette butt off the forest floor and put it into her pocket. "Stop smoking, Lew."

Lew led them straight down the twisting gravel driveway to the winery. "He will be here. Be ready," she said, and opened the door.

The building appeared to be empty. It was filled with expensive furniture, decorations that flaunted wealth - or would in the Muggle world. There were some magical objects, too - moving photographs of Teague and a young girl, some family photos, an elaborate family tree that brought Hermione unpleasantly back to Grimmauld Place. Lew led them swiftly through the entry hallway to another door. Then Lew looked over her shoulder and put up a shielding spell. Hermione turned to see a green hex deflect off the shield, aimed for Ginny. The Killing Curse, cast silently.

Lew dropped the shield and they spread out on the ground floor. Lew took the lead, stepping carefully. It occurred to Hermione that she had never seen Lew in real combat, except in the Chinese plains. Would the flaming sword reappear?

" _Avada Ke_ -"

" _Expelliarmus_!" It was Harry's voice. Hermione ran around the corner to see Harry approaching a figure that had collapsed into a hardwood coffee table. The furniture was plush leather.

" _Accio wand_ ," Hermione said, and the man's wand flew into her hand.

"Regin?" Harry asked quietly. It _was_ Regin, looking sweatier than usual.

"Sorry, sorry," Regin stuttered, and then Lew entered through the far doorway and he scrambled backwards, trying to get away.

"Where is Teague?" Lew asked sharply.

"I - I don't know. I didn't know it was you," he said, his eyes flicking between Lew, Harry, and Hermione. "What is happening?"

"Where is Ginny?" Harry asked Lew.

Lew muttered something. "Take care of him," she said shortly, and spun on her heel.

"You're with her?" Regin asked, confusion obvious on his face. "What are you doing here?"

Harry frowned at him, and Hermione said, " _Stupefy._ "

The door Lew had hesitated at before was open, and Harry crept down the stairs, Hermione a pace behind. The air here was cold. Familiar-looking wine barrels appeared as they moved downward, forming long corridors that stretched much farther than the extent of the house above.

"We have to find the Muggles before he disposes of them," Hermione whispered.

"Where is Ginny?" Harry countered.

 _Where is Lew?_ Hermione's plan was already falling apart.

At the base of the stairs, Harry paused, and they both listened.

" _Homenum Revelio_ ," Hermione hissed. All the lights were concentrated. She brushed past Harry and ran.

There was an explosion, and then the sound of liquid splashing. Hermione could hear Lew's voice, hoarse, an inarticulate shout. She wished for the ring.

Finally they were there. The entire line of the barrels opposing the Muggle cages had collapsed and the barrels were rolling, some of them along the corridor. The wine stained the floor, a thick red river. Teague had his wand at Ginny's neck. Lew was spinning. There was a devastating boom, Lew disappeared, and then Teague turned his wand on the second Muggle cage. Green spell light flashed.

Then Teague saw Hermione and Harry running toward him, and was gone with a crack. Ginny collapsed in a heap, and behind her Lew crouched, her body moving strangely. She must have broken the spell that bound Apparition in this place.

Hermione saw green light flash inside one of the Muggles' cages, and she ran to it. Harry was right behind her, and when she arrived there was already the double crack of Disapparition and Apparition nearby.

" _Expelliarmus,_ " Harry said, and then a green light reached for him, from within the last Muggle cage. A Shielding Spell deflected the curse, and then Harry tried again.

" _Petrificus Totalus_ ," Hermione cast. Dane Teague was within the Muggle cell, holding the woman against his body, trying to block their attacks. He turned his wand on Hermione, casting the counterspell. Their spells met and fizzled in the air. Then Harry said " _Stupefy_." The spell connected.

Harry slashed his wand across the metal bars of the cage, and they split satisfyingly. Another slash and he was through.

Hermione turned away from the cage. Ginny was already standing, and Hermione brushed past her to where Lew had been.

She knelt down and picked the raven up in her hands. 'What happened?'

'I am OK,' Lew said. 'Just a second.'

The raven looked at Hermione, twitching away from her touch. It was light, fragile and small, but the sleek black feathers were familiar. She could feel the bird's flightiness, the thrilling beat of its heart, but it did not fly. A moment later it became heavier, and three long moments after that it was Lew in Hermione's arms.

"Are you OK?"

"I can't move my legs."

"They can fix it."

"Yes," Lew agreed, and then she winced. "I have to go."

"Stay," Hermione said, putting her hand on Lew's wand.

"It's going to be so bad."

"We are going to get you out of this," Hermione promised.

"OK, OK," Lew repeated, distant. "I will stay, but only for you."

"Any reason. Whatever reason."

"It's going to be so bad."


	20. Chapter 20

Hermione was perched on a chair in the middle of the Ministry of Magic. The tiered amphitheater was overbrimming with Aurors and members of the public.

Suddenly a flickering image was projected onto the wall. "Security footage outside of Diagon Alley," the prosecutor said, and Hermione finally recognized her own face. _Crap._

She hadn't realized just how vocal she actually was, gasping encouragement with every thrust. At first it could have been anyone, or nobody at all, with her. It almost seemed to finish before it began, but then Hermione said, "Kiss me," and somehow she backed away from the orgasm. She was as surprised as anyone in the crowd. But she remembered Lew's arm around her back after the kiss, a finger touching her neck, the light pecks on her face. She remembered putting her arms around Lew's neck, clinging, their bodies pulling away from the brick wall before Lew pressed her against it again. And she remembered Lew's face when she came, the intensity, how Lew pushed her hair out of the way with trembling fingers afterward. The image froze and then faded.

"Do you deny involvement with Lucy Cunningham?" This explained why Hermione had been called as the first witness.

"I never have," Hermione said, scowling. "That was grossly inappropriate."

"You were in public."

"It was six in the morning! You didn't need to share that with the…" Hermione hesitated. "The panel," she finished, although obviously it was closer to 'the entire wizarding world.'

"It was necessary, I think, to show that your judgement of the character of the accused is compromised. "

"It is true that I love her. But sometimes love allows us to see more clearly. Lew is a good person. She was a part of the Order -"

"Please answer the questions I ask you," the man interrupted, and then he began pacing in front of the stage. "It's remarkable that a dark witch managed to seduce you, one of the Golden Trio. She must have known that you would fight for her, even after she was apprehended."

"She gave herself over, willingly. Without her help we would never have been able to gather enough evidence against Teague to bring him to trial."

"Dane Teague's guilt has not yet been established, and it is irrelevant to the case before us today. Lucy was incapacitated, and she must have gone to Grasia for treatment, not knowing that she was caught."

"Of course she knew -" Hermione interrupted.

"Answer the questions," rumbled Theo from the judge panel, set slightly aside from the rest of the crowd. It was very unlucky that he had been selected, but then, there was a reason Hermione had not called on the older Aurors to witness the assault on the vineyard. They were all culpable in accepting Dane Teague's 'process'.

"The case before us," and here the prosecutor spun, considering the crowd, "is whether Lucy Cunningham performed blood sacrifices to incapacitate criminals, and concealed the practice by placing an Imperius curse on the victims and demonstrating an ineffective process to the Auror High Council."

"She did," Hermione said sharply. "But she was forced to do it, by Dane Teague. And she didn't keep them under Imperius. That was Teague himself. Their cases are one and the same."

"Stop talking out of turn. Lucy Cunningham can defend herself."

Hermione looked for the first time at Lew. She was expressionless. Hermione winced to think of her defending herself against this jackal. She would alienate the crowd in an instant with the cool indifference that had so disgusted Hermione.

Hermione turned to the panel of Aurors. "Can Lew's trial wait until Teague's is finished? We are just spinning our wheels speculating right now."

Marco looked thoughtful, and Dawlish nodded slightly. But Theo said, "We will hear Teague's arguments tomorrow. Lucy Cunningham comes first."

The jackal started right up again. "So you admit that she performed sacrifices? How could you continue to defend her, after she violated the most important principle of magic?"

"She didn't want to. She was forced to do it."

"I _could_ believe that. But there are eight wizards and witches that she incapacitated, over quite a stretch of time. You're saying she couldn't get away from him for _three months?_ "

"Teague claimed that he would hurt or kill me if she stopped."

"Oh!" The man's eyes opened wide in an expression of surprise. "So it was for love that she stayed? Or was that, too, the manipulations of a known sociopath? It does sound romantic. But is it true?"

Hermione felt tears spring into her eyes, and choked them down. This was the crux of the argument. This was why he had led with the footage. If Lew was manipulating Hermione into helping her, it would help to prove that Lew was guilty. "Lew led us to the Muggles in Teague's basement, the ones that he was torturing. One of them is here today. Ask her what he was doing to them. Lew was instrumental in capturing Teague, and gave herself over to the Aurors willingly. This isn't just what I believe. It's what happened. Judge Lew on her actions, on the facts."

"I don't doubt that she led you to the Muggles or that she captured Teague, only her motivations for doing so. Did you not stun Proudfoot and interrogate Vincent Crabbe just earlier that day? By that time, there was enough evidence against her to warrant the life sentence. So of course she changed sides at that moment. It doesn't show that she was forced to perform the sacrifices, only that she was smart enough to know when she was caught."

It was the same cycle of redemption and judgement that Hermione herself had put Lew through, but with an impartial eye rather than Hermione's loving one. She pressed her lips together grimly. "She could have escaped, though. If she knew that the evidence condemned her, she could have cut and run. She stayed to lock Teague up."

"She could have run… like she did from the Order, at the moment the Order needed her most."

"That is unfair," Hermione said sharply. "She was held by Death Eaters for eight months. Who wouldn't need some time to recover from that?"

"Was she held against her will? Or did she help them? We don't know."

"Ask Bill Weasley," Hermione shot back. "He led the group that retook Azkaban."

"We will," the man said. "We need all the facts, after all. It is not an easy thing to root out dark wizards from the ranks of the good, and harder still when it is our own police under investigation. But we will find the truth, I promise you. You are dismissed.

* * *

"That was ugly," Harry said immediately when Hermione exited. The press of the crowd was nearly vacant in the space around her.

"Did you know they have… some sort of recording spell there?"

"Must be new," Harry said. "I'm so sorry. You did well, anyway."

"Like I said before, it doesn't matter what I said, really. But that guy is really sharp. I'm worried."

"Lew has a good head on her," Harry said. They were moving away from the press, unconsciously gravitating away from the crowd into the inner bowels of the Ministry.

"I wish I could see her. But I wouldn't even know what to say. She is so…"

"Emotionless?" Harry supplied. "Creepy?" He raised an eyebrow at Hermione.

"Be nice," Hermione scolded. "She's not creepy."

"I guess it gets better with time," Harry said, but his eyes were still dancing. "Luckily we all just saw the _least_ cold version of her possible."

"You are the worst. Don't say that."

"Too soon?"

"Never again." Hermione gave Harry her best glare. "That moment will stay forever in that hearing. It will -"

'That was embarrassing,' Lew muttered dryly in her head.

'Let's just pretend it never happened.'

"You're talking with the creep, aren't you?"

"Everyone is united against me," Hermione complained.

'It might help us,' Lew pointed out.

'Harry just said that. Can you stay quiet for a second?'

'I think I'm next.'

"What should Lew say? How can she make herself relatable? You're so much better at this than me, Harry."

Harry hummed, and Lew said, 'Are you there?'

'We are thinking, Lew.'

Hermione jumped half a foot in the air and then slapped at Bill Weasley's hand until he released her. "That was excellent!" he said delightedly. George was just behind him, tailed by Ginny. "What a show!"

Hermione huffed and turned entirely away from the cadre of men. 'The Weasleys are here. I don't know, Lew. Tell them your past.'

'Almost as bad as the movie,' Lew said. 'Which Weasleys?'

'Not Ron.' This was the very first sign of jealousy from Lew, and it was gratifying.

"Come on, don't be dull," George prodded.

Hermione turned back around and faced them all down. She was blushing fiercely. "Can that just stay in the hearing, please?"

"We should talk about our strategy," Ginny offered.

"Right," Bill agreed. "I think your case is watertight. If Lew had left, it would be over. But she's here, essentially voluntarily. I hope they do call me. I have a few things to tell them."

'Bill is pretty mad,' Hermione told Lew.

Lew said, 'At least he can be. Bill is the best.'

"Half here, half not," Harry said by way of apology. "When we were training they tried to teach us to communicate telepathically with our partners. I think Hermione and Lew are the only ones who are still doing it."

"That's nuts," George commented.

"It's really difficult," Harry agreed.

Hermione squeezed her temples. "I am so sick of the constant commentary. Please stop. Can we focus?"

An alarm blared, and they all moved back to the hearing room, Hermione cursing all the way. The Weasleys broke off from Harry and Hermione, and Hermione caught a brief glimpse of Ron's bright ears in the seats they were aimed toward.

But it wasn't Lew who was called next. Instead, Regin was perched on the massive oak chair on the platform.

"Can you tell me what happened last Tuesday night?" The day before Hermione confronted Lew about the ring.

"Sure," Regin said slowly. "Well. I found out that the Minister's guard had been killed by a dog, and I thought it must have been Lew Cunningham who did it."

The prosecutor shook his head. "And why would you think that?"

"It just seemed - well, I mean, I had seen the man in Dane Teague's office. So I thought maybe he found something out about Cunningham."

"Or about Teague. Isn't that just as plausible?"

"Sure," Regin said after a confused pause. "But either way, it would have been Cunningham that did the murder."

"Let's back up. Who are you?"

"I used to be support staff to the High Council."

"Which?"

" _The Auror_ High Council," Regin said, and now he was really nervous. "Then I was transferred to Dane Teague, and right after that Lew Cunningham was also taken on. She had just been exonerated by Teague for murdering someone on the High Council. Who was a spy."

"So you and Lucy had the same role, supporting Dane Teague?"

"Not at all. I do paperwork, take messages, organize information. Cunningham is his boots on the ground. She does all the spy work, stuff… how much detail should I get into?"

"Unnecessary. But the murder of Beable Noff was taken as… a recommendation for Lucy, was it not?"

"I suppose." Hermione suddenly realized that this _was_ Teague's trial, too, whether officially or not. Her hatred for the prosecutor was rapidly waning.

"Do you know anything else about the conditions of Lucy's employment? Or about her past?"

"She never finished basic training. She was only in the program about two months, actually."

"And why didn't she have a partner? Isn't it usual to have a more experienced partner?"

"I guess… I think she was officially considered _Teague's_ partner, actually."

"Who was Teague's partner before that?"

"Before that, me. And then before that, Mercy Audrey."

"So you were left without a partner, but still assigned to Teague?"

"That's right." Regin straightened his back. "But I never had a partner before that, when I was working for the Council. So it was just back to normal."

"And when did you join the Aurors?"

"Right after the Battle at Hogwarts. I was also expedited, the first class to be admitted. Right before the Golden Trio, you know. Because I had already taken my NEWTS." Hermione wondered how Ron felt about being excluded by Regin's choice of term.

"So, what happened on Tuesday night?"

"I found out about the guard, and it just seemed like it was Cunningham who must have done it. So once I get home, she's there."

'What the hell, Lew?'

'It was just intimidation!'

'Did you kill the guard?'

Lew was silent for a beat too long.

'Just impossible.'

'I'm sorry.'

'This could make a huge difference.'

Regin was still talking. "She basically said that unless I keep my mouth shut about the _process_ , I would go the same way as the guard."

"What is the 'process?'"

"It just - at the time, I thought it just removed someone's magic and made them kind of, like, docile. But after she forced me to take Veritaserum, to make sure I was actually in line, then I found out what it really is. They - I mean, Cunningham, I think - was keeping Muggles in Teague's basement and like, harvesting their misery into these big crystals. After the guard, they started doing everything out of Teague's vineyard estate, so they had to tell me about them eventually."

"But you know what they were actually doing, now, don't you?"

"Not exactly."

"They were using spirit taming to strip the magic away."

Regin looked shocked. "Didn't know," he managed. But he recovered quickly. "I'm not surprised. Cunningham would do anything. The way she killed that guard - the way she killed _Noff_ \- she's dangerous. She's got to be put away."

"Yet I have heard from Harry Potter that you yourself tried to cast the Killing Curse on him. Would you say that you are an innocent here?"

"I did, but I was defending the house."

"On Dane Teague's orders?"

"Right," Regin said, and squirmed.

"You never thought that he might have been using the same methods to keep Lucy in line?"

"Why do you keep calling her Lucy? Call her Lew or Cunningham."

 _Finally,_ Hermione thought. It had been bothering her, too.

"Very well."

"I suppose it's possible. But he always said that she was the one who make up the process."

"But you don't know."

"It could have been him. I guess it could have been him that was doing it, even. Cunningham did a demonstration for the High Council that was pretty convincing. With the -" he frowned, "- the crystals."

"So the secret you were keeping was what?"

"They were torturing Muggles."

"Anything else you'd like to add?"

"She's a snake. Don't believe what she says."

"All right. Next witness. Ange Bradley."

It was the Muggle. She made her way unsteadily to the chair.

"We don't normally allow Muggles to testify. But she is the only person who witnessed what was actually done to those who were kept. We have a promise from Harry Potter that she has not been tampered with. She has also already taken Veritaserum."

He stepped onto the platform and handed the woman a photograph. "Please stay calm. What can you tell me about this woman?"

"I - I don't know. I saw her sometimes, outside. I couldn't hear outside the cage."

"What about this man?"

"He is a magician. He said he would show us what magic could do. And he used it to hurt us. Usually it was just pain. But sometimes it was other things." The woman's voice was distant, drugged.

"And what about him?"

"He's like… her. But he fed us. He never looked into my eyes. She did."

"Do you recognize any of these people?"

"No," the woman said after examining each photo in turn. "Oh. Him."

The man took the photo. "Harry Potter. What can you tell me about him?"

"He released us. He took me… here." Her memory was obviously being affected. But the crowd had low expectations for Muggles, anyway.

"Perfect. Thank you."

He kindly led her away and then called another break.

* * *

The rest of the day was a blur of testimony. Next was Bill Weasley, who the prosecutor allowed to speak at length, and then Williamson. He had been there when they found the body of the Minister's guard, and his description of the murder was vivid, gruesome. By the time those two testimonies were over, it was late afternoon.

"I propose that you put off the decision until after we have heard Dane Teague's case, tomorrow."

"You haven't examined Lew Cunningham yet," Theo said.

"Her testimony is more relevant in Teague's case," the prosecutor said. A very good sign, by Hermione's reading.

The three judges muttered among themselves and then Theo said, "That makes sense. Until tomorrow, then."

* * *

"Please describe your relationship with Dane Teague." It was the first question of the morning, and sleepy faces abounded in the room. It was even more packed than the day before, which seemed impossible to Hermione. There was still more space around her and Harry, but she could see the Weasleys crammed into the back row. Mrs. Weasley had joined them, today.

"As Regin said yesterday, I was part of the Auror training program last year. I broke briefly from the Aurors to pursue a dark wizard in America. After I dealt with him, Teague used his position on the Auror High Council to exonerate me, allowing him to recruit me back to the Aurors. What this really meant was that he put me in a position of dependence on him.

"There were a few things that he did to retain control of me. The most important was that he threatened Hermione Granger, who, as you know, I am involved with." Her eyes flickered, scanning the crowd, and then she continued. "The second was that he forced me to perform a dark ritual almost immediately, arranging the situation such that it would be easy for him to expose my actions without implicating himself in them. This was the spirit taming ritual, which he showed me how to do. I don't know where he learned it, or if he made it himself.

"The rest are obvious. He recruited me to work directly under him, so the definition of doing my job was doing - whatever he asked of me," she said, stumbling a little. "Sometimes I knew the reasons he asked me to do things. Most of the time, I only had scattered pieces of information, not enough to form a full picture. I understand that this is not uncommon in the Aurors." She lowered her head, studying her hands. "When he contacted me the first time, I met with him because I was - I wanted to be a part of society again. I wanted to help, and - work. This is what I'm good at. But Teague took that and twisted it.

"I know there are things I could have done better," she finished, addressing the prosecutor again. "I could have refused to do the ritual the first time. I could have tried to expose him earlier, or I could have resisted him during the demonstrations to the High Council. But it was too uncertain, too risky. I was afraid of what he would do. Who would they believe? A Muggleborn with a history of - crime? Or a member of the Council itself, with a good record and immaculately clean hands? Teague built the cage well."

"Many would say that the brutality of your methods makes your motivations irrelevant. Can you describe what you did to Beable Noff, before you were ever employed by Dane Teague?"

Lew winced. "Noff was being controlled by a Death Eater that I had a history with. He - I got a little carried away. I didn't know he was still alive, and - he was my chief interrogator in Azkaban. I was confused."

"It did not look like the work of an amateur, or so I have been told."

"I did some thug work for Gringotts, back before the war."

"And before that?"

"I went to the Academy of Alchemy in America for school. And I grew up in the slums of New Orleans. I was friends with the Death Eater, and he showed me magic. That was my first experience with magic, learning the stuff that his dad taught him. We became Animagi before starting at AA." It came out in a rush, a whirlwind of foreign experiences. "I never knew my dad, and my mom lived in a -" Lew bit her lip. "She was a Muggle prostitute, that's where I grew up. All right? Is that enough?" Her eyes flashed at the prosecutor.

"Your relationship with this Death Eater was an important part of your life. Would you call it the most important relationship you have had?"

"I hope not," Lew said harshly. "I don't know." It was almost a 'yes'.

"Did you find it difficult to hunt him down and kill him?"

Lew scowled at him for a few long moments. 'What should I say?' she whispered to Hermione.

'Tell him the truth, Lew.'

"I always felt guilty for what he became. I thought if I had been a better friend to him, he would not have followed in his father's footsteps. By the time I started hunting him down, no, I had no - hesitation. But I regretted what happened between us, before. When I pushed him away, he left AA and just - changed. Completely."

"Was your relationship romantic?"

Lew laughed. "No. Not the way you mean it. He was like a brother to me."

"What could you have done differently?"

Lew cocked an eyebrow at the prosecutor. "I don't know."

"Do you think that your relationship with Dane Teague was similar in any way to your relationship with the Death Eater?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Jacob never controlled me. If anything, I always dominated him. Until Azkaban."

"So you were always the better person."

"We were the same. We grew up together. I don't know what you're asking. Do you mean, why didn't I follow him to You Know Who?"

"Why did you, as you said, 'push him away'? If he was dominated by you."

"We grew apart. That's all. Why are we talking about this? He's dead."

"We are establishing the facts. It would appear at first that your friendship with this Jacob and the dominance of dark magic in your life would make you more likely to have voluntarily committed the crimes you are accused of. It is important to understand why that might not be the case."

"It's not. I always wanted to be better. To, as they say, rise beyond my circumstances. Jacob changed, I changed, and we became enemies. Instead of joining You Know Who, Bill Weasley recruited me to the Order. Jacob raped me for eight months in Azkaban, and I killed him." The matter-of-fact tone only made the harsh words hit harder. "And now I am trapped in this mess." Her wrist flicked, encompassing the hearing. For the first time, she looked down at Dane Teague, in the first row of benches. "I doubt Teague knew about my past. He just knew that I would be easy to control, and that I could do his dirty work."

"What made you so easy to control?"

"For the first time in my life, I had finally found something to fight for. And Dane Teague knew it, knew - everything." Lew looked at Hermione, grim.

Hermione whispered, 'He knew about the baby.' She remembered the unopened cardboard box on the nightstand, forgotten in the moment of her conversation with Teague. He must have seen it.

'I won't say it.'

'I hate you.'

The prosecutor pressed, "What else was there to know?"

"Just that I would sacrifice my own integrity to keep her safe from him."

"Do you have anything else you want to say?"

'Lew, you have to tell him. Teague is going to use it against you. It will prove you've lied.'

"No."

"Thank you."

'He doesn't know how it happened.'

'He would have found out. Are you kidding? This is the worst possible mistake you could have made.'


	21. Chapter 21

Mercy Audrey took the stage with a young child, not older than three years. She sat on the chair with the child in her lap.

"You were partners with Dane Teague for four years, including the war. Can you describe your relationship?"

"Of course." Hermione hadn't seen Mercy since she left basic training, which was nearly eight months ago. She was stunning and a little hesitant, as usual. "We worked well together. We were stationed outside of Britain for nearly all of the war. I had my daughter while the war was happening, and we raised her in Guam until after the Battle at Hogwarts, when all the Aurors were recalled for restructuring." So the story about her gathering an army in South America was a cover.

"I understand that it is not Teague's daughter, correct?"

"That's right. But he has been a father to her. They are very close. You love Dane, don't you?"

The girl gurgled, and then said, "Love Dan."

"I was just on assignment in China with my new partner, Harry Potter. While I was gone, Isabel stayed with Dane."

"Were you ever lovers?"

Mercy frowned. "Occasional. Our relationship was not defined by that."

"I see. What can you tell us about Dane Teague's involvement with the Dark Arts?"

"I've never seen him cast anything worse than a Cruciatus Curse, in all honesty." She bit her lip and then shrugged. "We didn't do much combat. It was almost entirely intel. He has some great projection spells, but I couldn't imagine him inventing an entire dark ritual. Not at all."

* * *

"Can you tell us about your relationship with Lucy Cunningham?"

Dane Teague held himself well. He wore some of the nicest robes Hermione had ever seen. And when he spoke, his voice rang with authority, a magnetic charisma that dominated the room.

"She was one of our most promising new recruits. I was involved in both of her exceptions - both physical training and the NEWTS. I was able to keep a tab on her even after she abandoned the vows, and when she defeated the former Death Eater I made her case to the High Council. They agreed to allow her back into the program, provided that I took her under my wing."

"Why were you so interested in recruiting her?"

"She is very talented. I think we all agreed, after hearing about her work single-handedly defeating that former Death Eater, that we would rather have her on our side."

"And do you feel you succeeded at taking her under your wing?"

"Absolutely not. If anything, I enabled her to do even more damage. Only a few weeks after returning, she told me that she had discovered a way of stripping the magic from wizards without otherwise damaging them. As you all know, this would have been an invaluable substitute for Azkaban. But she deceived me. She said that she just needed to charge the crystals. Later, after she demonstrated the technique to the High Council - by the way, I put my full endorsement behind her - she revealed _how_ she needed to charge them. By then, it was too late for me to withdraw my endorsement. We had already started the special program.

"So I compromised. I agreed to allow her to store her Muggle 'batteries' in my personal basement." He sighed heavily. "Every few weeks, she replaced one of the Muggles. I found out just yesterday that she was actually _sacrificing_ the Muggles for the technique, and then using Imperius to control her subjects and pretending to use the crystals afterward."

"So you had no idea that the technique was actually spirit taming?"

"None at all. I don't even know what spirit taming is."

"How much experience do you personally have with the Dark Arts?"

"Just as much as the next Auror. I have never been very good with the Dark Arts. That's why my position with the Aurors has never involved much field work."

"Did you have any other indications that Cunningham was still involved in the Dark Arts?"

"No. Well, one." Teague made a show of hesitation.

'Here it comes. Damn you, Lew.'

"I have always thought that her relationship with Hermione Granger was - a little disturbing. At first I thought it was an indication that she was, I don't know… it seemed like a validation of my trust in her. But then I found out some disturbing details about it, and I started to worry for the girl."

"What manner of detail?"

"For one, it seemed that Lew was pushing away Granger's friends, isolating her. And then I found out -" he hesitated again, looking uncomfortable. "I found out that Granger was several months pregnant with Lew's child."

"How is that possible?" The prosecutor sounded almost shocked. Murmurs overwhelmed the chamber. The atmosphere was stifling, moist and warm, the feeling of too many bodies in too small a space. Harry looked at Hermione, and Hermione glared at Lew.

"Lew had told me that her old friend Jacob was able to track souls. So I did some research about, you know… and I discovered that one of the methods, the best one, involves depositing one witch's soul in the other's, well, womb. Can you imagine? After that, I started watching more closely. And I found out that Granger had tried to cut off contact with Lew entirely, with mixed results, I suppose. I couldn't think what it could have been that alienated her, considering. And now, well… you can imagine how I felt, knowing what I knew, during the display yesterday. It seems painfully obvious that their relationship has been one of manipulation and subterfuge. I even wonder - did Lew ask Granger to help her in this way? Or was it - did she do it to exert even more control over her?

"I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised. The - what did you call it, spirit taming - it is far more horrifying than impregnation without consent. But it disturbs me, to think that something that should be so good, such a blessing, should be used toward evil ends."

"Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

"No, I believe that is everything."

"Thank you, Mr. Teague. Final witness, Harry Potter."

Lew stood up. "Can we call a recess?"

"No, unfortunately," the prosecutor said. "Mr. Potter?"

Hermione grabbed Harry's arm, hissing in his ear. "Tell them it's true. It was consensual. You knew about it. Teague used the baby to control Lew, and I lost the baby last week. An accident."

"Hermione…" Harry looked acutely uncomfortable. "What's happening?"

"You knew about it," Hermione said. "Please, Harry."

Harry nodded and stood.

"You have been friends with Hermione Granger for how many years, Mr. Potter?"

"Nine years. Since our first year at Hogwarts."

"And you have remained close, even after the defeat of You Know Who?"

"Closer, probably. We studied for the NEWTS, did basic Auror training, and did most of the rest of the training together, too. Hermione is my closest friend."

"So you're surprised to find out that she is in a relationship with a dark witch, one that resulted in pregnancy?"

"Ah - no. Well, I was a little surprised, at first. But they make sense together, actually. It's hard to imagine Hermione without Lew." It was a nice compliment, especially considering the recent shock. "I suppose with everything, considering what Lew was trying to accomplish with um, Jacob, what happened just - it was something Hermione wanted."

"So it was her idea?"

"Yes. They talked about it for a while."

"And how many months pregnant is Ms. Granger?"

"She, um," Harry winced, possibly the first true expression he had made so far. "She lost the baby last week. It would have been -" he looked at the ceiling, undoubtedly doing the same math as everyone else in the chamber, "- four months." Four months since Lew was exonerated. Three months since Greyback was neutralized.

"So you approve completely of their relationship?"

"That's right. I'm happy for Hermione. I think Lew is the best thing that could have happened for her. And Lew has - has shown herself to have the highest integrity, despite what she said before. Without her help, and her superior skill in combat, we would never have been able to break open the special prison."

"So you believe her when she says that Teague forced her to do the spirit taming ritual?"

"Absolutely. I trust her." It was a leap, and Hermione could almost hear the words, 'If Hermione trusts her.' But, importantly, he didn't say that. He completely divorced his own judgment of Lew from Hermione's. And Harry Potter's judgment of character was possibly the most trusted in the wizarding world.

"Can you tell the panel what you told me about Dane Teague's basement?"

"He had five cages that were soundproofed. He managed to kill three of the Muggles before we incapacitated him. He used that woman," Harry nodded to the Muggle, "as a shield against our Stunning Spells. It was shocking to see him speak like he just did, when I saw him a few days ago killing Muggles in cages, like cattle."

"It's not just Mr. Potter that saw this. Ginny Weasley was also there, and Ms. Granger also corroborates this story. Well, Mr. Potter, you have given us all a lot to think about. Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

"Yes, actually. While Lew was talking about how Teague gained control over her, I kept just wondering - why not say no? Tell Hermione and me about the ritual, fight Teague together from the beginning? Hermione is a perfectly capable witch. But when Teague admitted that he knew about the, ah, baby, I finally understood. He didn't just threaten Hermione. He threatened their baby, specifically, knowingly. Lew did what she thought would protect her child. _That_ made me understand, finally. So in a way, he's dug his own grave, because he finally proved that Lew's actions _did_ make sense."

Hermione looked over at Lew. She had her head down between her hands, but her shoulders were shaking hard, silently. The show of emotion was enough to set off Hermione's tears, too. 'Two more lies exposed and I still love you,' she shot at her. Lew looked up sharply, her face streaked with tears, eyes bloodshot. And then she looked at the Auror judges, each of whom met her gaze. She was fierce, uncowed despite the tears, but defensive, tense as a coiled spring.

Finally she looked down again, breaking the stare. Harry took the seat next to Hermione. "Do you think that death glare helped, or hurt?" he muttered.

"What?" Hermione put her arms around Harry. The rest of the crowd was moving, stretching and dispersing. "You were brilliant, Harry. How did you know?"

Harry shrugged. "You have a lot of explaining to do. If I just helped set an abusive dark witch free, you are going to really owe me."

* * *

"Teague never adequately explained why he was killing those Muggles," Marco said, his accent thick. "Teague, will you take the stage and explain that detail?"

Dane Teague stood and took the seat. "I was simply trying to escape. I had several Apparition blocks up, and taking the route out can be difficult. I did use the Muggle as a shield, because I felt that if I didn't, Lew might kill me. Whoever killed those Muggles - I didn't see. But I think it is clear who, among those present, had the least scruples, and who had the most to lose."

"I thought you were the one who tortured them." It was the prosecutor, still unnamed.

"She must have edited their memories."

"Lew Cunningham couldn't selectively edit memories to save her life," Marco said sharply. "I examined her during the admission process. You were still in Guam. Do you know what else she can't do? It's an Unforgivable. Guess."

Dane Teague shifted in his seat. "I have no idea. Why was it part of the exams?"

"It wasn't. I was curious what else her… mental block encompassed. And at the time, the Aurors were still allowed to perform Imperius." He grumbled. "I've never liked you, Teague. It seemed strange that you wanted to supervise her, since to you she would be nothing but a grunt. She's basically useless as a spy. What spy can't edit memories?"

"I think she can," Teague protested.

"So who wiped down Greyback's memories? He was the first one, remember? He could barely remember where to take a shit."

"It was badly done. She must have done it."

"I don't think so," Marco said. "I really don't. And Crabbe? His recollection was also badly damaged. It was like he kept needing to start from zero. Every time I had a shift with him, he realized that he'd lost the magic. Over and over again."

"Why would I ever do that? What would my motivation be for so much sloppiness?"

"You had a lot more going on than you reported to us. Cunningham," Marco said, turning toward the crowd. "How many times did you do the ritual?"

"Twelve times," Lew said.

"And only eight of them ended up in Special. Where did the rest go? Old enemies, maybe? You're a sick man, Teague." Marco sat down.

Theo stood. "Potter made a compelling case, but I don't trust Cunningham. She could have come to us at any time. Instead, she came forward only _after_ Granger figured out everything. It seems obvious to me that she was hiding things, and not just from the Council. Granger and Potter must have just found out that she was performing the 'process'. After that, Cunningham could have easily concocted the story about Teague threatening Granger. Granger and Potter went along with it, because it was much easier to believe that Teague was responsible. She obviously had some sway over Granger. My question is, why didn't she tell Granger until the very last moment, if she had nothing to hide?"

The chamber was silent for a few long moments. Then Lew said, "Was that a question? Should I answer that?"

"Please," Theo said.

"I didn't want her to know about the ritual. We were going to have a baby. I wanted to hide the part of me that could do that. I thought I could gather enough evidence against Teague to bring to the Council on my own. She would never have to know."

"So you didn't tell her?" Marco clarified.

"I'm not proud of the things I've done. I didn't want them to impact Hermione, or - our baby. That was the most important thing to me."

Marco shrugged. "My opinion is unchanged, although I do think you're very stupid."

"Thank you, sir," Lew said, taking a deep breath and turning to Dawlish.

Dawlish looked thoughtfully at Theo. "Did that satisfy you, Proudfoot?"

Theo sat down. "I need to think. I would rather this have a simple solution."

"There is nothing simple where Teague is involved," Dawlish said softly. "Suffice it to say that I have seen the power of Teague's spy networks turned to unwholesome ends before this. I am not surprised that it was his idea to use spirit taming. Teague, you might be able to fool the public, but we are your colleagues. We've been Aurors together for fifteen years. There was a reason Gawain Robards sent you to Guam."

Teague let a scowl overtake his features. "Cunningham is a leech. You have to see that. Especially after what she did to Granger."

"She's just a child, Teague."

"So. Are you ready to vote on Dane Teague's guilt?" It was the prosecutor.

"Yes. Guilty," Theo said. Dawlish's opinion must have swayed him.

So it was unanimous. The vote to exonerate Lew was a foregone conclusion. It was over.

Hermione smiled tightly at Harry and they walked together to Lew. Hermione pressed her cheek to Lew's. "Harry is going to kill you," she whispered.

Lew hugged her tightly, burying her face in Hermione's neck. "Thank you."

"You didn't deserve it," Hermione said, and then released her and stepped aside.

Lew shook Harry's hand. "You probably have questions."

Ginny was there. "Can we go somewhere?"

Lew shrugged, shaking her head. "I'm not sure. Just a second." She went over to where Dawlish and Marco were standing. They had a brief conversation, during which Ginny and Harry eyed Hermione.

Lew came back. "Yes, I think I am allowed to leave."

"Let's meet at the Weasley Wheezes."

Lew raised an eyebrow, but nodded. They Disapparated separately. Harry and Ginny were there when Hermione arrived at the door.

"Do you think she skipped out?" Harry asked Hermione immediately.

"I don't know," Hermione answered honestly.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Ginny asked her.

"We are still in public," Hermione reminded her. There were a few customers within earshot, inside the store, and the street was bustling.

"Just tell us," Harry pressed.

"I was just embarrassed. I hadn't decided what to do."

"What was there to decide?" Harry's lips were a thin line.

"I - there she is," Hermione said. Lew was walking toward them from the direction of the Leaky Cauldron, her head down.

"Come on," Hermione said when she reached them. Lew just looked at her.

Ginny led the way up the stairs to the meeting room. It felt like a lifetime since Hermione had been there. Had it only been a week and a half?

Lew went straight to the window and lit a cigarette. Ginny and Harry continued to eye Hermione over the table, so Hermione went to the cooler and took out four beers to escape them. Her hands were shaking. She distributed the beers, and Harry drank his.

"What did you mean, you hadn't decided what to do?" Ginny finally said.

Lew spoke from the window. "I didn't tell Hermione what she was consenting to when I left my soul in her. I regret it -"

"So I just really, really lied." Harry interrupted. "That's what I kind of thought." He stood. "You're a piece of shit."

"It doesn't matter now," Hermione said.

"It entirely matters," Harry said. "What Teague said about her manipulating you was completely true, Hermione. I am going to punch you," he said to Lew, and he did, twice.

Hermione interposed herself between them before he hit her a third time, and Harry stalked away. Lew looked at Hermione, wiping her face, and then turned away and lit another cigarette. After a long moment, Hermione sat back down at the table. There was something wrong about what Harry had said, but Hermione barely trusted herself to speak, let alone piece together the details of her relationship with Lew. Maybe Lew _had_ manipulated her. She struggled to find an example of that happening, and could think of only the one time. Her thoughts were interrupted by Lew's voice.

"I thought it would have been easy to deal with. I gave her Muggle pills. It's not even an abortion at that point."

"That can't be your excuse," Hermione said sharply.

"I had to kill him. I thought it was the cleanest way."

"You could have asked. We could have talked about it."

"You would have gotten involved. You would have tried to help me." Lew was still defending her decision. Hermione suddenly hated her.

Harry interjected. "This might come as a surprise to you, Lew, but Hermione Granger's help is pretty fucking helpful."

"It was my fight," Lew said.

"Why are we even having this conversation?" Ginny interrupted. "Why did you take her back, Hermione?"

"I didn't want to tell you about - it." Hermione buried her face in her hands. "And when it - I held out for months. I would have told you once I decided what to do. But then. She was the only one who knew about the baby at all. And I let her back in for just a day. It was too easy." She lowered her hands and looked at Lew, who had frozen in place, her face a mask except for a slight working in her jaw. "I shouldn't have done it."

"Piece of shit," Harry repeated. He had finished his beer and started on Ginny's untouched one. "I can't believe I just lied for you."

Hermione said, "If you hadn't, Teague would have walked."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Lew asked fiercely, lighting yet another cigarette. "I worked for Teague to protect you and the baby. I told you the truth, in the end, all of it. I stayed, I gave myself over for that fucking shitshow trial, and now here I am, talking to you. Getting punched and shit on."

Nobody had a response to that. Finally Lew said, "Should I just go?"

Harry said "Yes" at the same time that Hermione said "No." They looked at each other.

"It seriously happened?" Harry said incredulously. "After ten years, Hermione Granger has finally made an actual, real mistake?"

"Shut up, Harry," Hermione returned.

Ginny addressed Lew. "You do love her, don't you?"

"Yes!" Lew was exasperated. "I'm just really, incredibly fucking stupid, just like Marco said. I'm sorry. For everything. I want to be the person who deserves you, Hermione." She held Hermione's gaze, and then turned back to the window, sniffing, wiping her face with her hand.

Hermione looked at Harry and Ginny. She remembered that shape of Lew's lips when she kissed her in the forest. It was too tempting to let herself fall back into Lew's arms. But having finally articulated the reason she let Lew in after the miscarriage, Hermione could no longer pretend that it was a reason at all. She couldn't keep sacrificing her dignity on the altar of comfort. Lew was _not_ the person that deserved Hermione.

"You can go now, Lew," Hermione said, and then she stood as if to catch her. But Lew was too fast. She didn't look back. She just flew.

* * *

_In the meantime, I feel like I should offer an apology, and an explanation for what happened here. If you've stuck with me this far, I trust that you are here because you want to see them together. I, too, so badly wanted them together for the next part of the story that I wrote two chapters of it, and then I realized that I could never forgive myself if I did that._

_First and most pressingly, Hermione deserves better. She might have been happier if she had taken Lew back at this point, but she wouldn't respect herself for it, and Hermione's dignity here is paramount to me. But most importantly, as a dear friend told me in excruciating honesty last week, Lew needs a chance to grow. Lew is beautiful in her own way, but she can't remain the person who could unapologetically use Hermione's body the way she did, and at this point in time she has been so distracted by her own problems that she hasn't had a chance to really think about what she did. Hermione gives her the motivation and the means to grow, but this change will not happen in the comfort of Hermione's arms - which was made abundantly clear to me as I walked through the following two chapters under the alternative scenario._ _Trust me, this is going to end up better. Sadder, but better. Lew proves herself in a way that even I did not expect, and I am still recovering from._

_Thank you for staying tuned!_


	22. Chapter 22

_This level of misery is so foreign to me that it doesn't seem real. I'd thought before that it was connected to my pregnancy. It'd seemed more natural then, to think of Lew as a part of me, a part of us. But the farther away she gets, the more awful our separation feels. It's a sickness, an obsession, destructive and cruel. If it is so bad for me, and I chose this, how is it for her?_

_I'd carried her soul for five hours. It didn't seem to have hurt our baby, but maybe that is why I can't let her go now. It has to be the magic. There must be a cure._

* * *

Jim Ravensdale called Hermione asking for a visit. She met him that afternoon at his house, and was nervous, sweating. He offered her tea and then sat spinning the cup around for a few minutes. Hermione let him think.

"Something has come to light, and I need your help."

She nodded. What on earth could Jim Ravensdale want from her?

"My son - well - it has developed that Susan was," he cleared his throat. "Unfaithful. Tomorrow an article will come out in the Daily Prophet declaring Mr. Thomas the true father of Albert. You might know his half-brother, Dean Thomas?"

"I see," Hermione said slowly. The information was irrelevant to her, but she did feel a certain pity for the man.

Jim was not finished, though. "I know that it might seem a little odd, but… I need to make a statement about it, and I wasn't sure who to ask. I don't want to leave Albert alone at this time."

"So you… want to deny the article's claim?"

"No. But he is still my son, blood or not. I want to take a stand against the -" he paused, searching for words. "Thomas is not pure-blooded. But my Albert is not unworthy. I thought that with your work with the um, Muggleborn work, I thought you would have an invaluable perspective on the matter, a perspective nobody else could bring. Will you help me draft my statement?"

Hermione tried to cover her shock. After all that, after the Muggleborn campaign seemed to have stalled entirely, here was help, from an entirely unexpected quarter. Jim Ravensdale was suddenly the most valuable connection Hermione had ever made.

"Absolutely," she said, a smile fighting its way through the morass of the last few months. "Absolutely, I will help."

* * *

Lew was in the Muggle house when Hermione appeared. It was dusk. Lew didn't speak. Instead she worked Hermione's robe off her, and Hermione unfastened her pants, allowing Lew to push her against the bare drywall. Her ears were ringing, but Lew just let her fingers graze her before going on her knees. Hermione kicked off her shoes and Lew brought her pants all the way down, and Hermione put her knee over Lew's shoulder, burning, impatient. Lew's tongue teased around Hermione's entrance, and Hermione shook, grasping her hair, resisting the urge to beg. Lew was too slow, too tender.

Finally she put her leg down and pushed Lew onto her back on the bare-planked floor. She straddled Lew's hips and pulled off her own top. And then she unzipped Lew's robe and put her hand under her shirt. Lew's skin was silky, delicious. Hermione pushed up her shirt and kissed it, breathing in the scent of her, feathers and musky femininity. She started unfastening Lew's belt.

"Hermione," Lew breathed, the first word spoken. "I need you."

"You took too long," Hermione said, and started on her pants.

"Oh," Lew said. "No, I will…" she breathed out sharply. She was so wet that Hermione's fingers were lost, drowning. "I just -" Words failed Lew. Hermione's fingers worked around Lew's entrance and her clit, and her body ripped around them. Hermione delighted in watching her face, in forcing her hips to twitch up into Hermione's palm, in every tiny movement of her legs around Hermione's body.

And then she said, "Come up." Hermione shook her head, focused. So Lew shrugged her robe off her shoulders and flipped their positions, settling Hermione on her back. Her fingers were water after days of thirst. Weeks. Months. Their bodies moved together, slow and perfect, soft but firm, and then Lew pushed faster, escalating. Hermione escalated with her, shifting her focus, letting her fingers repeat their motion. She said, "Yes, baby. Harder. I need you. Fuck me," and Lew rocked arrhythmically, silently. Her body twitched and her center rippled, and Hermione kept herself from slipping her fingers inside.

She held Lew hard when it was finished, heedless of her wet fingers. "I love you," she said, and kissed her sweaty forehead.

"I love you, Hermione," Lew said, and then her fingers moved again, and Hermione could cry from the relief. "Harder?" she asked her.

"No. It's perfect. Don't stop. Don't leave."

Lew nodded and kissed her. "I won't leave you. I love you. Shh," she said, kissing the tears off her cheeks. "I'm here."

"You are so beautiful, Lew. This is all I want."

Hermione woke up with the tears hot on her cheeks and the knowledge that she had lost something irreplaceable. Her body's euphoria was completely overwhelmed by her misery. She could almost feel Lew's fingers inside her. _Harder. I need you._ She had never brought Lew to orgasm, but the dream was so real that it felt like she could. Like that was the way, with Lew inside her, Lew's body wet and rippling under Hermione's fingers.

She almost reached out to touch Lew's mind. It would be so easy just to have her, no more a violation of Hermione's morals than the dream had been. Lew was so close, so wet and deep, so real. Hermione slipped her fingers under her panties and inside, imagining that it was Lew she was touching, that she could penetrate her even though she knew she could never. She explored herself, imagining Lew's face, her breasts, her hands on Hermione's back, her naked softness. Hermione wanted to make Lew shake, to take her harshly, to reach as deep as Lew's fears and to wipe her mind of any thought but of their bodies. She thrust her fingers harder, curling, and then it was Lew inside her, her hips digging into Hermione's thighs, her breasts against Hermione's stomach, her touch wild, hard. "Please," she found herself saying. "Come back."

She heard the words and pulled her fingers out of herself, turning into the bed, burying her face in the pillows, trying to muffle her misery. She hadn't used their time together well. She should have held Lew closer when she had her. What stupidity impelled her to push Lew away, when Lew needed her, when she needed Lew? This separation was impossible to maintain.

No. She had to wait. If she still thought it was a good idea to forgive Lew tomorrow morning, she would do it then. Not now. She repeated Lew's words to herself for the fiftieth time: _You would have tried to help me. It was my fight._ The words failed to conjure any trace of fury. They were too stale now, overworn. But they were still sufficient reason to stay away from Lew, even after Hermione's anger fell into empty loneliness.

Every morning was a new battle, and every night was sleepless. But tomorrow would be better. It had to be. She released the pillows and brushed her teeth, and then she changed her clothes and worked on accounting until the sun came up.

Harry came over at ten. He had withdrawn his money from Gringotts when she told him what happened, and he had agreed to keep the secret from the Aurors and from the Ministry. Every banking institution in the Wizarding world was run by goblins, but Hermione was convinced that they were not all in alignment with each other. Today was the day that she would find out if she was right.

Having Harry at her side in Buenos Aires was only a slight comfort to Hermione. The bank had an intimidating facade, and the rows of tellers were an unpleasant reminder of what had happened, months ago, in London.

Hermione pushed down her fears and approached the goblin at the head desk. She cleared her throat to get his attention, and he paused for too long before returning to the ledger.

"Hermione Granger," he said, and she actually took a step backwards. Harry pressed his hand at the small of her back. "Goblin killer."

"I'm here to make an offer," Hermione said. Her voice quavered under the pressure, the many silent eyes in the hall. "I know that Gringotts doesn't want the story of what happened to… spread. I'm here to offer my silence in exchange for peace."

"What happened in London does not concern the Greater Bank of Buenos Aires," the goblin said, finally looking down at her. "You should leave."

"You know that Harry Potter broke into Gringotts. We know the secrets of Gringotts, and you can't touch Harry. Tell Gringotts that we will keep their silence, but only if they stop trying to kill me."

The goblin mused, and then his head disappeared. Hermione could hear him leave the enclosure, and then he appeared on the other side "Come. We will meet about this matter." He led them to a room with a single miniature table and four chairs. "What secrets do you know?"

"We know how the locks work," Hermione improvised, making no moves toward the table. "And how the dragons are kept. We have a full map of the vaults. And - I know how the traps work, in the main hall. I disabled them all when - you know. We were planning to sell the information, but we are willing to keep it a secret if Gringotts will keep peace."

"This is… interesting." The goblin looked at Harry, and then back at Hermione. "Why shouldn't we just kill you now?"

"This is Harry Potter," Hermione said, and she gripped Harry's arm. Harry grinned at the goblin and raised his eyebrow cockily. "At least four people know that we are here. You can't kill us."

"You can leave," the goblin said, and opened the door to them. He went directly back to his desk and began writing.

Harry and Hermione walked unscathed out of the hall. Their next stop was Barcelona, and then Sydney. Hermione spent the year that followed stepping carefully, but she never saw another goblin trap again.

The victory was enough to keep her from Lew the next day, and the next day it was a new challenge, a new victory. This new life was not enough to make Hermione happy, but the small victories were enough to stave off her misery. Most of the time.

* * *

"Congratulations," Hermione said to Fleur, kissing her quickly on the cheek and stepping through the door to Shell Cottage.

Fleur's newborn daughter, Victoire, was in Mrs. Weasley's arms on the couch. Nearly the entire Weasley family was clustered around her. Hermione smiled greetings at the group and went straight to the kitchen, where she found Harry and Ron.

"Hey," Harry said quietly, giving her a sideways hug.

"Haven't seen you for a year," Ron said, smiling shakily.

"It hasn't been that long," Hermione protested. "It's just May."

"Sounds about right to me," Harry said as Hermione opened the bottle of chilled white wine that she brought.

"Nobody else is drinking, are they?" Hermione asked, pulling down three wine glasses. "Will you two? Please?"

Harry sighed. "Sure," he said, and Ron nodded. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"No, not at all," Hermione protested, but her hands shook as she poured the wine into the glasses.

"You didn't need to come, I'm sure," Ron said sympathetically.

"I wanted to," Hermione said. "I think I will just stay here, though. To defeating Dark Lords and - all that." They clinked their glasses together and drank. "Happy anniversary."

"You're talking about the battle at Hogwarts, aren't you?" Harry said.

"Obviously," Hermione glowered.

Ron asked about the progress on anti-discrimination laws, and Harry drifted into the living room. Hermione tried to get into detail about structural disadvantages and her efforts toward reforming job placement for Muggleborn, but Ron's attention drifted rapidly and she gave it up. Instead she let him talk about alternatives to Azkaban. He had interviewed a few wizards in Russia about their prison system, and was enthusiastic about the possibilities.

Fleur's mother replaced Harry in the kitchen, and immediately started interrogating Hermione about her phone. "Of course we can replace it," Hermione assured her, starting on her second glass of wine.

"I was there during the trial, actually," Apolline went on. "Last year, you know. I always thought Lew was in love with you. You could just see it."

The sound of Lew's name brought stinging tears to Hermione's eyes, which Apolline ignored. "Thanks," Hermione said, hating her.

"Where is she now?"

"I don't know. America."

"So you split?"

"I suppose."

Finally Ron came to her rescue. "So, what's happening with your divorce? "

Apolline scowled at him and Ron flushed brilliantly. Hermione excused herself and walked outside, finishing the wine quickly. Lew. She watched the waves break until the tears faded, and then she went back inside and toughed out one more hour.

She had dinner with her parents. They pressed her about leaving the Aurors and suggested a political career, and Hermione continued drinking until she started to cry again. She told them about Fleur's baby, and they asked her if she would ever consider trying again with someone else. She told them that there was nothing she would hate more.

Just a few days later, as if she had heard her name on the tip of Hermione's tongue, Lew contacted her for the first time. 'Remember how you said I should have told you about Jacob from the beginning?'

The intrusion of Lew's mind on Hermione's consciousness after such a long time should have been unwelcome. But Hermione leapt out of her bed, eager, drowsiness forgotten. 'Are you asking me for help?'

'I just thought you would want to know.' The words were even, almost practiced. 'Jacob is alive. He has concocted an elaborate story about… he claims that he has our child.'

Hermione sat down, the smile fading from her face. 'What exactly did he say?'

'It's not possible. But I thought you might want to know.'

'Lew, come here.' The plea was familiar, too familiar. Hermione's heart was blossoming and bleeding at the same time. Time had done nothing to heal her.

Lew didn't respond for a very long moment. 'I love you still.'

'I love you, too.'

'This is a bad idea.'

'Our baby is alive.' Hermione was crying, weak. Nothing could be better. Nothing could be worse.

'He knows we want to believe. It's a lie, Hermione.'

'I did feel movement. The Time-Turner. You didn't see - what I saw.'

'Would you meet me in Knockturn Alley?' Lew said.

'Yes.'

Hermione pulled on her sweater with leaden limbs. How quickly that day in St. Mungo's had changed, from a death to a birth. Hermione was completely numb. It was impossible to be glad. Where had her baby been for the years since she had lost him? The time seemed endless. What nurse would take a newborn away, save it, but not tell the parents? Had the woman sold him? How many people knew that Hermione Granger's baby, made famous by the awful public trial, was still alive? Or was it just Jacob, with his powers of soul-tracking, fueled by his obsession, who found it out? Who else could have tracked down a child thought lost?

A helpless fury replaced the emptiness. So it had not been within Hermione's own agency to dictate her baby's infancy. Hermione could control so little, and this, the thing that mattered most, was also beyond her. She had thought to keep Lew from their baby, to protect him, but Lew's distortions would have been nothing compared to this. If they found their baby, what would he look like? Where had he been raised? Would there be any true hope of recovering him, with his infancy now behind him?

It was unfair, incomprehensible. She should have had a sense that he was alive. She should have been able to find him, not the man who had destroyed Lew.

It was approaching midnight, and the streets of Knockturn Alley were completely empty. Lew caught pace with Hermione as she entered from Diagon Alley, and Hermione stopped still at the sight of her. Her hair was even shorter now, and she was solemn, too dark. She studied Hermione with inscrutable eyes.

"Lew," Hermione spoke, and then she stepped into Lew's chest. She grabbed the front of Lew's robes and buried her face in them, hanging on as if she was the only thing that kept her standing. Lew's scent was dizzying, but it was no comfort to Hermione now.

Lew put her hands on Hermione's shoulders. "He is lying, Hermione."

"No," Hermione said. "Why would he wait so long just to tell you a lie? He really found him."

"Better not to hope." They stood there like that for another long moment, and then Lew's hands shifted, pulling Hermione into her body, and Hermione used every last ounce of her willpower to push her away.

Lew let her hands drop to her sides. "But will you help me? I can't do this alone. You said last time…"

"We will all help you, Lew."

Lew looked confused. "The Aurors?"

"Harry. Ginny. Bill, Neville…"

Lew's brow creased. "Don't get them involved."

"But our baby." It was just a whisper. "You can't take any risks."

Lew squinted and nodded. "Whatever you want."

"Why are we here?"

Lew turned a vial around in her hands and then handed it to Hermione. It was labeled, in crisp efficient script, "Do not view unless Jacob lives." Lew's hand? Hermione had never seen her writing before.

"You want to watch this memory with me?"

Lew nodded. "There's a rentable Pensieve here. Will you do it?"

"Yes, Lew," Hermione said, and followed her to a storefront. They plunged into the memory together. Lew was a teen, her face recognizable but free of the darkness. She was running away, through massive white rocks, with salt shrub the only vegetation. The moon was bright, reflecting off the sand.

A boy ran after her, skinny and mousy, his face unblemished. "Stop," he yelled shrilly. "Lew, just listen to me."

Finally Lew spun. "I heard what you had to say. What else do you want from me?"

"Just let me," the boy gasped. He approached Lew. He was shorter than she, the solemnity looking strange on his young face. "Just let me back in. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You're like my brother, Jake. Of course I'm uncomfortable."

"You have a crush on Holly. But you've forgotten who started you here. Who brought you in, who made you powerful. You knew what it would mean, in the end."

"Is that what your father told you? That I would be forced to accept you, after we grew?"

Jacob's face fell. "Don't you want to be somebody? You're nothing now."

"I might be nothing, Jake, but I am better than that."

"Yeah, well, at least I know who my father was. At least I have a name. When the Dark Lord comes, we will be ready for him."

"Do that, then. Don't get me involved. I don't care what you do."

Jacob studied the ground. "But we've always done things together."

"And now we don't," the young Lew said sharply. "Goodbye, Jake."

"No," Jacob said, but as he stepped forward Lew turned into the raven and flew. He crumpled, and the dog replaced him, skinny and mangy, its eyes watery in the bright light of the moon. And the dog howled after the crow. _Don't leave. Stay._

The memory ended, and Lew and Hermione were expelled from the Pensieve. "Stupid. Useless," Lew spat, fishing it out of the basin and letting it drip into her finger. The memory absorbed into her skin.

"Why did you - need to see it?" Bill's words from a year ago were fresh in her mind. _She had plenty of chances to go dark. But she never did._

"I didn't. I just didn't want you to know that it was my fault, what he became. So I extracted this memory, so you wouldn't see it, before." Lew was animated, jerky, flushed. She looked at Hermione uncertainly. "What do we do now?"

Hermione looked at the Pensieve. "Someone from St. Mungo's would have been involved in taking him. The woman who - who took him away cast something on him. We need to find her."

"It makes no sense," Lew said. "They would have told you if they saved him."

"How do I retrieve the memory?" Hermione asked, and Lew instructed her.

"This is my worst memory," Hermione said once it was swimming in the basin. "It's something I hoped that you would never see." She turned toward Lew, suddenly overwhelmed by the protectiveness she had pushed away. Maybe she shouldn't let Lew, fragile, defenseless, into this memory. Doubtless it was something Lew would be better off not seeing.

"I guess it's all coming out," Lew said, lip twisting ironically, eyes icy. She took Hermione's hand and plunged in.

The first thing Hermione noticed was the swell of her belly, bigger than she had remembered - bigger than she had acknowledged. The lights were too bright, setting the white room, the bed, the towels off in piercing brilliance. She looked at Lew, who had circled the bed, looking at the image of Hermione, her ghostly hand passing right through Hermione's. And then the nurses revived her, and she was gasping, teeth gritting, and the nurses were instructing her. Hermione kept her attention on the nurses. Rachel. Doris. She couldn't remember the face of the nurse who had taken him.

It was faster than she expected. The baby was placed on a table, on blankets, and the image of Hermione reached out for him. She touched his tiny, lifeless hand, and then the nurse folded the blanket over him, muttering an incantation. The spell washed over him, and then she picked him up and left the room. Hermione followed her to the door, but there was nothing on the other side but empty space. Lew was still standing by the side of the bed, watching Hermione lying there.

The memory ended, and Hermione sat heavily on the chair in Knockturn Alley. "Doris. We have to track her down, tonight. Now."

Lew shook her head. "Doris," she repeated, dazed. "I have to -" she said, and plunged herself back into the basin. Hermione waited, an endless minute. And then Lew was back.

Hermione caught her before she went back in again. "Stop it. You're torturing yourself."

"No," Lew said, and she held Hermione tightly. Hermione let her. "I want to be there."

"He didn't even take a breath."

"I had no idea," Lew started, stumbled, pressed her lips against Hermione's forehead. The touch was familiar, warm and soft. Hermione turned her face up to Lew.

"Me, either," Hermione whispered.

"He was perfect."

"Too small."

"Maybe."

"You think Jacob was telling the truth?"

"No," Lew said, but she squeezed her eyes shut, letting tears fall on Hermione's face. Her jaw was clenching spasmodically, audibly, painfully. "Yes. He must have been. We have a son."

Hermione nodded and put her hand behind Lew's neck, pressing their foreheads together. Their breath mingled. "What is Jacob going to make you do?"

Lew released Hermione and plunged back into the Pensieve. When she returned this time, Hermione said, "You have to stop, Lew."

"Yes," Lew said. "I can't."

Hermione fished out the memory from the bowl, and Lew clung to her from behind as she let it drop onto her finger. The real memory hit Hermione hard, worse than the third person view. The smell, the sensations, the shape of the baby's hand, came back in an abrupt rush. She put her hands over Lew's, interlacing their fingers, almost paralyzed with grief. "Why?" Hermione finally said, and speaking the thought made the constant mantra fade a little.

"Twelve hours," Lew said into Hermione's neck. "It's eleven now. We have twelve hours until daybreak in Louisiana, when I have to meet him. Do we have time to track down Doris and find him?"

"Jacob probably wiped her memory anyway."

"Maybe I can trick him into bringing me to the baby," Lew offered.

"We can incapacitate him."

"You can't come to the meeting, Hermione." Lew was afraid. She released Hermione and moved toward the door. "He is a master Legilimens, maybe even better than You Know Who. That's why he did the interrogations. Imperius - he doesn't even cast Imperius. The moment his attention shifts to you, you're already under it. He's insanely dangerous. I wouldn't let anybody near him, but definitely not you."

"So when you come back from meeting him, I might not even be talking to you?"

"Do you remember during training, I said I've done something like the communications before? It was literally my entire life. He invaded minds for fun. By the time it turned dangerous, I had learned what to do. It's my only advantage. I think it's why he's so obsessed with me."

"He's in love with you, Lew."

"I'm pretty sure that's not how that works." Lew was stony now. What was different about Jacob's obsession with Lew, and Lew's love for Hermione? They were both rapacious. And they both seemed unshakable, life-altering. Yet Lew insisted that they were different. Was it just that Lew, unlike Jacob, had let Hermione go?

"Why not just meet me and take over my mind, if he wanted to control you?"

"Trust me, he tried that."

The old fury flared in Hermione. Lew should have warned her. Hermione had been so unknowingly vulnerable to this man. But she just turned away from Lew. What was the point in reopening these same wounds? Even if they had not yet closed.

"We should go. To St. Mungo's."

"Yes," Lew said.

They Apparated directly in front of the hospital, and stepped through the glass. It was fairly empty of visitors this late at night, and Hermione led the way to the main desk.

"Hi. Do you know who I am?"

"Yes," the nurse said, peering suspiciously over her optics.

"We are Aurors, and a nurse here may have been a witness to a crime. I only have her first name. Doris."

"Ah," the woman said. "Of course we will be happy to cooperate with an Auror investigation. Unfortunately, we're understaffed right now. Come back at 8am and we will be able to help you."

"That's not going to work for me," Hermione said. "Cooperate now."

"Ah. Well. I don't know of any staff here by the name of Doris. We will have to look it up. Is it possible she's not here anymore?"

"Of course it's possible. Can you get me her last name?"

The nurse sighed. "I can check the roster for the next few days. Just a moment."

"Give it to me," Hermione said. She searched the roster quickly for the word "Doris" using the actual, absolute most helpful spell she had ever learned. "Not here. Get your employment records."

"I'm afraid that's not possible. I need to stay at this desk."

"We will watch the door." Hermione glared at her until she nodded and stood. "Quickly. Now. Go."

It was an endless thirty minutes waiting. Hermione wished for a library. She wished for Harry's invisibility cloak. She wished for a Lew that was slightly less impassive, or a Lew that was not still in love with her, or a possibly a Lew that would drag her into a closet and take her roughly.

She called Harry, and then Ginny, and then Ron and, despite Lew's protests, Bill. Then she called Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. No holds barred. Every human would help. She told them all to meet at Harry's flat. She gave no details about the situation.

"Two people named Doris. Doris Archuleta and Doris Messenger." The nurse had finally returned.

Hermione tried the two names on her phone first. "Does either of them work here still?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Give me their addresses."

"Is that really… appropriate?"

"Yes."

The woman sighed and disappeared again. Ten minutes later, she returned with a slip of paper.

"Thank you. Goodbye."

They exited St. Mungo's, then Apparated to the Muggle house and Floo-ed to Hermione's flat. It felt like hours since Hermione had been there. Hermione's book was forgotten on the bed, the pages mussed. She flattened the pages and closed the book, and then joined Lew at the window. She patted her jacket pockets. Gloves. An extra wand. Her bag. Something was nagging her, a thought that could not quite surface, or - an idea? Something far away, forgotten. It was so distant that it didn't feel like Hermione's thought at all. She pushed it away.

Lew had already found the addresses on a map of London. They glowed, white pinpricks. "I will follow you," Hermione said, gritting her teeth. Broomsticks.

"Sure," Lew agreed. She looked at Hermione, and Hermione leaned into her body. Lew bent to kiss her, and for the third time Hermione turned away.

After a long, painful pause, Hermione said, "I wish I knew anything about healing. I'm so useless right now. I need a library."

Lew shook her head. "We had no way of knowing it was possible."

"We just need to find him. Don't you think there must be a way? Some sort of - divination, I don't know. Like the map."

Lew looked at the map in her hands for a long moment. "I did try, but I don't know. This isn't something I'm good at. I don't even know what to look for. I looked for you, Hermione, but there's only -" she winced. "He's not you, so that didn't work. Anyway, don't you think the first thing Jacob would have done is make him Untraceable?"

"I've read about things better than Tracing, but I've never tried them. There - any sort of - you can't think of anything?"

"We could go to Harry's flat. They might know something."

Hermione hesitated, torn between the two equally pressing needs. "There's no time. Go. We can talk in the air."

But once they were flying, the terror of the movement was too great for Hermione to think much. There had been great witches and wizards who had found hidden things, people, anywhere in the world. Hermione was not one of them. But it seemed that Jacob was. By the time she searched out the spells, it would likely be too late. And the components for a spell that powerful would be hard to acquire.

The first house had Muggles in it. The second was empty, and had an air of disuse. It was obviously a witch's house, but perhaps the witch truly lived somewhere else. They used the chimney to Floo to Harry's.


	23. Chapter 23

Harry's flat was immaculate. It had a sense of class without being grandiose or large. Hermione had been jealous of the flat when he first purchased it. She hadn't really thought to decorate hers, distracted at the time by more pressing concerns. The space already felt overfull with six people in it, and the addition of Lew and Hermione made it actually stuffy.

They all sat down and Hermione explained the situation, talking through the tears, leaving nothing to the imagination. When she finished, Ginny took her into Harry's bedroom and asked Hermione how big her baby had been, and what the skin looked like.

"After just four months?"

"The Time-Turner."

"You should have been showing. And why wouldn't the nurse tell you?"

Hermione grimaced. "Ginny, I _was_ showing. We don't know what she did with him. I guess there must be - ways to - things that you can use infants for -"

"There are. How would someone like that be allowed to work at St. Mungo's?"

"We're just lucky he's alive."

"Yes," Ginny agreed. "It is possible." She sighed and squeezed Hermione's hand. "Are you with Lew now?"

Hermione shook her head. "We are over."

"That's not what her eyes were saying."

"Please, not now, Ginny."

"You know what I think," Ginny said.

"I can't. It doesn't matter how we feel."

"That's all that matters. You can't keep pushing her away and loving her at the same time. It's dysfunctional. Haven't you both suffered enough?"

"I made my decision. Nothing has changed since she did - since she used me."

"She would obviously do anything to make it up to you."

"Maybe she will."

"Is that what you're waiting for? Staying for the trial wasn't enough?"

"She can't think she can get away with what she did. You heard how she was talking after the trial. She said she was sorry, but she was still justifying. 'It was my fight.' Do you remember? It was the same Lew that used me. She hasn't changed."

Ginny frowned. "Fine. Make yourself miserable."

When Ginny and Hermione returned to the living room, Harry's disembodied head was floating in the half-kitchen. Lew shook her head. "He sees souls. A cloak of invisibility would never work."

"But this is _the_ Cloak of Invisibility," Harry insisted, a light in his eye. "Death's cloak. A Deathly Hallow. Dumbledore said that it made people actually invisible. Even he couldn't see people under the cloak."

"Jacob's magic is different. And he could probably control you even without seeing you, anyway. The moment he detected that you were there, you'd be another person I'd have to fight."

"That's why _I_ don't wear the Cloak. " Harry took it off and handed it to Lew. The fabric bunched in Lew's hand and overflowed to the ground.

Lew hesitated. "OK," she said. "Then what?"

"You don't show up to the meeting, and Jacob goes to wherever the baby is. You follow and kill him."

"Too risky," Lew said at the same time that Hermione said, "No." They paused and looked at each other. Hermione tore her eyes from Lew's and looked at Harry. "You don't know that he's planning to kill the baby directly. Maybe _not_ doing something will have the same effect. And he wouldn't kill him without showing Lew in some way. I think he plans to take her to him."

"He knows he doesn't need to," Lew said. "And all I need to do is give up my wand. I will be in the same position as I was in Azkaban." The words hung unpleasantly in the air. "He always told me that if I was obedient, he would free me. That I would get my wand back if I submitted to You Know Who. Maybe that's all he wants."

"How domestic," Ron broke in. "You believe it?"

Lew shrugged. "Yes, actually."

Hermione had avoided thinking about the details of what happened to Lew in Azkaban. She thought it was what Bellatrix had done to her, but over months rather than minutes. She had not imagined that Lew had been given the choice to leave, and hadn't taken it. After seeing the young Jacob of Lew's memory, though, it made sense. He'd always thought that Lew was his. Of course he would have wanted to free her.

Again, Hermione thought of Bill Weasley's words. He must have known that Lew was given this choice. She looked at his profile, still silent. Thinking.

Hermione stepped forward and stood next to Lew. "I think we should focus on finding the baby. If we can find and protect him, Jacob won't have the leverage. Does anyone have any ideas?"

"You've tried Tracing?" It was Neville, trying to look helpful and to ignore the intimacy of the conversation.

"I didn't know what to look for," Lew said. "And it seems too obvious, anyway."

Neville's eyes flicked uncomfortably to Hermione. "You don't have anything that - we could use to focus on?" _Anything he owned. Any part of him_.

Lew said, "Nothing. Only Jacob could see and track his soul."

"I will ask my grandmother. Can I have a vial of both of your blood? I think there is something that shows all living relatives. We could use the process of elimination."

"Good idea," Harry said eagerly. He retrieved two vials in the kitchen, and Lew and Hermione nicked their pinkie fingers and each let three drops of blood fall. A fourth drop of blood fell from Lew's finger as she corked the vial, and Hermione watched it as it ran with the water already in the sink, leaving a long trail as it flowed down the drain.

"Other ideas?" He and Ron looked at Hermione as Neville took his leave.

Ron spoke. "One of Mad-Eye's most famous captures was of a wizard in hiding in South America. The story goes that Moody broke the Masking spell. Maybe we can figure out how he did it."

"We still can't trace him with nothing to use." It was Lew.

"Maybe Hermione could," Ron said, swallowing. Bill cleared his throat and glanced at Ron.

"Is that a thing?" Harry asked.

"Kind of," Ginny said.

A wave of dizzy nausea overwhelmed Hermione. So she _should_ have been able to find her son before. Why hadn't she looked? It was easier to let him die. She had done this to him.

"Sorry," Hermione said, and brushed around the couch back into Harry's bedroom. She closed the door behind her and stood there in the dark. She imagined the looks they were exchanging, but she couldn't face them like this. Who would they send? She swallowed back the rising bile. It didn't matter now, what could have happened. But it mattered more than anything.

They sent Lew. Hermione shut the door behind Lew and kissed her. She pushed her against the wall and pressed their bodies together. Lew's lips distracted her completely. Her body burned, harsh and desperate. "It's not your fault, Hermione," Lew said through the kiss.

"Just take me, Lew," Hermione said. "I can't stand it."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Lew managed, but she kissed Hermione harder and let Hermione grind against her hips. "My only love. Stop."

Hermione said, "Make me better."

"It wouldn't help, Hermione." Lew broke the kiss. "You didn't know to look. Don't blame yourself. And he would have been Untraceable already, I'm sure. Just breathe."

"No," Hermione said, but she released Lew. She sat on the bed and put her head between her hands, taking deep, gulping breaths. "Sorry."

Lew nodded and sat next to her on the bed, not touching her. "Thank you for asking your friends to help me."

"Of course, Lew," Hermione said. "Thank you for trusting me, this time."

"I won't lie to you any more, Hermione. I told you. I need you." Her voice was thick with emotion. "Please. I love you."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know, Lew." Just a half hour ago she had told Ginny that Lew hadn't changed. "Let's get through tonight. Let's get our son. Then we can talk."

"I'm afraid," Lew whispered.

"We will protect you, Lew."

Lew nodded, but a note of misery escaped her lips.

Hermione stood and put her hands on either side of Lew's face. She kissed her again, drinking in the sweet reunion. They had never had enough time, not enough time to even really know each other. But Lew's touch was soothing, soft, familiar as Hermione's own skin.

She tasted like tears. Hermione said, "Don't worry. I won't let Jacob have you, for even a second."

"OK," Lew said. She stood. "Come on." Hermione hesitated for an instant, unwilling to let Lew's body go. Her sexual desperation had melted into a need, just as desperate, to keep their bodies close. With Lew, she could still stand. Without her, Hermione doubted that she would be able to even move.

Lew was pulling away, though, and Hermione let her go. Hadn't she just told Lew that she wasn't ready to forgive her? Hermione realized with a vague start that she wouldn't hesitate to use Lew's body for her own satisfaction. She had always assumed that was what Lew wanted, too - to use Hermione's body, if she could not have her in whole. But Lew had never instigated. She had just followed Hermione. And Lew was so fragile. Would Lew have said 'no' more than just this once, if she had known that Hermione was not fully committed? But then, it had been Lew who first tore them apart.

Yet Hermione remembered that Lew had pulled away, for really the first time, when Hermione had told her she couldn't love her. What had seemed like obstinacy, almost a game, held a new meaning. That was was the morning after Hermione touched Lew. Hermione had loved Lew when she touched her - not the infatuation of new love, not the possessive grasping she had felt during her pregnancy, or even the consuming hunger she felt now. She had loved her truly, with tremulous affirmation, moment by moment. But, she realized, maybe she should not have touched her, even then.

Harry's face was frozen in disapproval when they opened the door to the dark bedroom, and Ginny was smiling a little. Bill said, "There was a reason Moody didn't publicize his counterspell for Masking. He used the spell a lot, himself. But Tracing is just what owls do. There are other ways of finding people."

 _Finally_ , Hermione thought. Bill stood and picked up a quill. "I know bounty hunters who will help, to start. Let's post a bounty. How much can you put up?"

Hermione hesitated, counting up her earnings. She could sell the phone company. "Four hundred thousand galleons?"

Ron made a strangled noise, but Bill nodded. "We want him found quickly. This will wake up every bounty hunter in the world." He looked thoughtful. "I think my dad said the bounty for Sirius Black was three hundred thousand, more than Dad's made in his entire life. Obviously that's the largest bounty that's ever been posted. But I'm guessing you're not going to lower that at all?"

Hermione shook her head. "OK," Bill said. "Other ideas. My assassin friend said that even if you're Untraceable, you still leave sort of a - trail behind you, things that you've changed with your presence, things that would have been different if you hadn't been there. If anyone sees you, they remember your face and sometimes you can find the trail that way, too. I don't think the face thing will work, but maybe the trail in time will work? It's - going to be really complicated. I can't do it. And I don't think Lew can, either." He glanced around the room.

Luna spoke up into the silence. "I know that spell. It's generally considered ideal for finding lost pets, lizards, that sort of thing."

"I think you're talking about a different spell than Bill, Luna," Ron said.

"Close Parallels, right, Bill?" Luna nodded. "I've only used it a few times, but I think it worked. The trouble is, you never _totally_ know that you've selected the correct thread."

Hermione's eyebrows were frozen in their highest position, but Bill was nodding in agreement. "Supposedly, lots of things shift out of place by themselves, so the farther back you're trying to trace someone, the harder it is to find the right thread and follow it through."

"Ten minutes is do-able," Luna observed. "The problem is, you really have to start in the right place, physically, too. And sometimes there are hundreds of decisions that branch out from each moment. Sometimes the decision happened a long time before that moment, so you won't see it there at all, and every thread includes the person you're looking for. How long has it been?"

"Fifteen months," Lew said. "I don't think you can do this."

"Nineteen," Hermione said. "I think the decision you're looking for was on November 7th, 1999, at around five in the morning. Between five and five fifteen."

Luna's eyes were wide, but she nodded. "I can try. I would like to start now, though. Where should I go?"

"Room seventeen in the Leaky Cauldron." Hermione grimaced. "Good luck, Luna."

Luna nodded. "I will try."

"Thank you."

When she left, it was just Bill, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Lew. Lew had sat down on the floor and was looking disconsolate. Ron and Harry were glaring at her.

Hermione was thinking about every decision that Luna would need to navigate. Hermione's decision to include the financial system in her crusade. Her decision to go to Gringotts that day, and to take out her wand. What if Lew had come to her, instead of asking every day? Hermione could tell Lew not to come, but could she have pulled away from Lew's touch? If Lew had been there that morning, she might have convinced Hermione not to go. She knew about the baby. She knew the risks of confronting the goblins directly. Lew would not have wanted her to go. Even Hermione's decision to overuse the Time Turner was pivotal. Every single time she used the Time Turner made a difference.

"It's impossible," Hermione remarked. "It's too far back."

Bill nodded. "Probably. Let me post this bail."

Ginny stood. "Hermione, let's try Tracing."

Ron said, "I am going to ask Marco about breaking the Masking spell. Tonks would have known, but maybe Marco will have ideas."

"What should I do?" Harry asked.

Hermione turned to Lew. "Where are you meeting Jacob tomorrow morning?"

Lew sighed and stood. "I can just bring you there. It's in Louisiana."

"What's the significance of the place?"

"After You Know Who returned, Jacob owled me and asked me to meet. He just kept asking me to join the Death Eaters. When I kept saying no, he tried to capture me, and we fought for the first time. I suppose the place has some sort of sick sentimental value for him." Lew rolled her eyes.

"Let's go," Harry said. "We can prepare for the fight."

Lew looked at Harry. "I'm not going to fight him."

"Of course you can fight him," Harry said. "I'll help you work it out so you'll win."

Lew shook her head. "You're not getting it. If I fought him I would win - he's not terribly good at dueling. But I'm sure he's set up a million triggers around the - Hermione's - baby." Her eyes flickered to Hermione. _Our baby. Your baby, Lew_.

Hermione didn't trust herself to correct her. Lew had not yet acknowledged her connection to the child in front of the others. The baby boy with Lew's smile and Hermione's steady morality. Hadn't Hermione told her parents that he was not Lew's, that he was Hermione's alone? That wasn't this feeling. Hermione wanted him as a Lew she could shape, a Lew that was entirely Hermione's. She tried to imagine how she would have felt if it had been Ron's baby. Would she have kept it? No, for a thousand reasons. But Lew's baby was different, as precious and impossible as Lew herself.

If her baby would have been a Lew that Hermione had entirely to herslf, who was it that she shared this Lew with? She knew the answer, even as she asked the question. Lew might escape him, in her waking life. But when she slept, she was his.

Lew was still speaking. "You can trigger a spell on unconsciousness. If he's conscious he might be able to trigger a spell without his wand. I could fight him, but it's too dangerous."

Harry frowned at her. "You can always fight. What else will you do?"

Lew shrugged, and Hermione dismissed the problem. They would find the baby before it was relevant. She picked up Harry's cloak. "Wear this, Harry. And Lew." She grimaced, hesitated. "Do you have our rings?"

"Even if I'm in danger, you can't come," Lew said.

"I will wear mine," Hermione said, her lips a thin line. "You need to be able to get away."

"Oh," Lew said. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Lew," Hermione said impatiently. "Just do it."

Lew rummaged in a pouch for a few moments and then produced a key ring. She pulled off both rings at once and handed one to Hermione, not meeting her eyes.

Hermione put hers on and paced away, facing the kitchen window, looking out into the night. Lew exhaled behind her, and there was the sound of someone on the sofa, standing or sitting. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and leaned against the sink, trying to breathe, for Lew's sake. She reached for Lew's mind, finding her easily. This word was easy to make Lew understand. 'Sorry.'

"Ouch," Lew said out loud. Hermione turned around, and Lew was actually on her knees, her hand on the sofa arm, the other over her eyes. Then she stood and ran to the bathroom. They could hear dry retching.

Bill said, "She kind of deserves it."

"I don't get it," Ron said.

"Don't worry about it," Hermione said brusquely, turning to Bill. She controlled the dizzy nausea that Lew had succumbed to. It was a familiar feeling, now. "By the way, I am really surprised you told her to do that. It's - really invasive."

"It was Fleur's idea. Sorry. She thought it was romantic."

"I don't even want to know," Ron said. "This is stupid. I'm leaving now."

"All right," Hermione said. "Thank you for helping, Ron."

Ron gave the bathroom door a look and stepped into the chimney. "Whatever," he said as he disappeared.

"Well, I guess this is my cue," Bill said. "Lew, are you OK?"

"Yes," Lew said. "Just a second." They could hear the water running.

"I will wake up my parents, too," Bill said. "Maybe they will know something, or somebody. Probably. I should be back in an hour or two."

"Sure. Thank you, Bill."

It was a few moments before Lew reentered the living area. "He's gone?" she asked.

"Yes," Hermione said. It was just Harry and Ginny now. She stepped into Lew's arms and pressed their cheeks together, closing her eyes. This was all she wanted, this closeness, a soft glow, the only thing that could wipe her mind of thought. She could stand with her hand on Lew's neck and Lew's arms around her waist for hours. She could tip her head and catch Lew's breath. Perfect. "Better?" _My only love,_ Hermione repeated back to her. She couldn't tell if Lew heard the thought. They were so close that touching Lew's mind was an incidental. To not touch Lew would have been harder. Impossible, maybe.

Lew groaned. "No. A little."

"Yeah," Hermione said. "Go now."

"I love you," Lew said. An answer, or a vow, or a confession?

Hermione released her. That nagging thought resurfaced, pressing against her consciousness. She saw blood. A woman's scream. Someone had died. Who?

Lew and Harry took the chimney, and Hermione stayed staring at it. "I am forgetting something," she told Ginny. "Or… is there a ghost here?"

Ginny looked around. "I don't think so."

"Did someone die here?" Hermione asked. She sat down, holding her knees, trying to capture the thought. "I can't remember."

"I've never felt a ghost here." Ginny said, frowning. "What are you trying to remember? Do you need more time?"

Hermione stood, shaking her head. "I can't. Show me this Tracing spell. What should I think of?"

Ginny rummaged through Harry's shelves, taking out a map of Britain and spreading it on the table in the breakfast nook. "Let's start here."

"He could be anywhere," Hermione said, but she sat at the table with Ginny.

It was a long and painful process, made worse by Hermione's conviction that it was impossible. "The more you try, the easier it will be," Ginny said. They started by finding Lew. They followed her as she took the Portkey with Harry, and then Apparated across the States. It was easy to find Lew. Then they tried Ginny, and then Ron, using Ron's forgotten scarf.

And then Ginny said, "I don't know exactly how it would work. But just remember him. It's the same as the scarf, you know. Your blood was the same blood. Most of him is made of you. And he left parts of himself in you, too."

"Yes," Hermione said. "Right." But there was nothing.

"If anyone can break the Masking spell, it would be you, Hermione."

"I know!" Hermione snapped. "How?"

"I don't know how," Ginny said. "Remember him. He's out there."

"Get a map of the world," Hermione said. "This isn't going to work."

"Go back to Lew."

Lew. There she was. Hermione could actually see her for a second. Her boots were an inch deep in thick mud. She was walking, slogging really, using the branches of swamp trees to propel herself forward. And her mouth was open, talking. She looked sad and exhausted.

And then Hermione pulled away from the image and cast the spell again, reaching. She saw a quick image. Her baby, gasping a breath, naked. He was covered in thick blood, more than before, and surrounded by darkness. Where?

She slammed her hand on the table. "Britain. No. I don't know. I can't do divination." She stood up and paced to the far edge of the room. "I think I was making it up."

"What did you see?"

"The past," Hermione said. "But nothing real. Nothing helpful."

"It's a good start."

"I can't do this."

"You have to try."

"I know," Hermione said, and looked at the clock. Four in the morning. Six hours left.

Bill arrived first, with Molly Weasley. It was an unpleasant confrontation, made more difficult by Molly's sympathy. Bill and Ginny left them alone, and Molly coached Hermione. Hermione cursed at her and went so deep into the spell that she started bleeding. Her body remembered her baby. It was losing him again, at every failure. And every hour that passed was an hour closer to dawn.

Neville came back when the sun rose in Britain with bad news. "The spell should have worked," he said. "But you both only had one relative, according to the spell, and the relatives were very far apart. One of them was in Britain, and one somewhere in America. Grandma thinks that it's only showing magical relations."

So her son was a Squib? Was that even the word, with two Muggleborn? "That doesn't make sense," Hermione said.

"It just didn't work," Neville said. "There are too many restrictions. I don't know why it wouldn't work, but it didn't."

Hermione's belly cramped, and she winced. "Thank you, anyway, Neville." She could almost feel the sun racing across the ocean toward Lew.

'Come back,' she said to Lew. 'We don't have anything.'

'Four more hours. We're planning.'

'Fine,' Hermione said. Her eyelids were swollen, painful.

'You need me,' Lew said.

'Yes,' Hermione said. 'No, you should plan. Are you setting traps?'

'Sort of.'

'I would rather kill Jacob than let him near you, Lew.'

'That's not an option. We have to find the baby first. What have you been doing? It's - it feels terrible.'

'Tracing. Failing. It's not working.'

'Maybe you should try something else.'

'Like what?'

'Ouch. Don't yell.'

'I wasn't yelling.' But Hermione knew what she meant. She was angry, lightheaded, beyond pain.

'Do another brainstorm. Go to the library.'

That was a good idea. Hermione surveyed the group. "I think I am going to the Hogwarts library now," she told them. "Unless anybody has better ideas?"

"Where is Ron?" Molly asked.

"I think he's still talking to Aurors," Ginny told her. "I guess they don't have anything. Yet."

So Hermione went to Hogsmeade and from there to Hogwarts. She found Minerva McGonagall awake and explained the entire painful story again, this time without tears, and Minerva allowed the group to use the Hogwarts library. She suggested that Hermione use a crystal ball, and offered her own.

"You know as well as I do that I can't scry," Hermione snapped at her.

"It will help focus your efforts. You're blind without one," Minerva said sternly.

"I can't do it any more. I was trying all night. You don't know how Moody broke the Masking spell, do you?"

Minerva shook her head. "I don't think that story is accurate."

"Why would he admit to it if he wanted to continue using the Masking spell himself, and keep his methods a secret?"

"Exactly," Minerva said.

"No. People break spells. Imperius has been broken. Lew broke a protective spell that prevented Apparition. It's possible."

"Sit down, dear," Minerva said, and Hermione put her head in her hands. "It _might_ be possible. But it would be better to scry. Reach into the past. Follow his journey."

"I hate divination. I can't do it."

"Just try."

"What's the incantation?"

"There isn't one. Look into the ball. Focus on the last memory you have."

So Hermione did, but she could watch only her own story play out. Finally Minerva put her hand between Hermione and the crystal. "You're just replaying your own memories. Go into the past."

Hermione looked at her. Her face blurred in Hermione's eyes. They were too dry, empty of tears. Someone else knew about Gringotts now. She could spare no emotion for the thought.

"Sorry," she said. "I'm so tired."

"Take a short nap."

"I can't do that," Hermione said. She stood up and went to the window.

"You've always carried the weight of everyone else's journey," Minerva said from behind her. "Let your burden pass to us, just for an hour. Sometimes sleep can bring the best insights. In sleep, we remember things that our waking minds cannot."

Hermione grasped for the memory. "Is there a ghost here?" she asked Minerva abruptly. "I feel death."

"There are many ghosts here. You know that."

Hermione spun. "There _is_ something I'm forgetting."

"So sleep."

"I can't. We only have three hours left. Three hours isn't long enough to do anything."

Minerva examined her face. "Try the library, then."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, and escaped her. She avoided Bill and Ginny and Neville, and Ron when he appeared. She prowled the Restricted section, her fingers burning. Finally she read about what infants could be used for, each image more gruesome than the next. Most left the baby without life. But hadn't Neville's spell failed for an unknown reason? The point of using an infant was to drain its life force into something else. The power of the young life was too great to extinguish it - anybody's life could be used for that. The unformed mind and wild magic was where the value lay, and draining those from the body was the recurring theme. Hermione had imagined her baby in captivity, starved of contact. She hadn't imagined him bodiless, drained into something else, an object, a person. But maybe that's where he was. Probably.

But it could be anything. The realm of possibilities was not narrowed by her research.

Finally, Harry appeared in the library. "Where is Lew?" Hermione asked, suddenly afraid.

"She said that it was too close to the time, and that I should rejoin you," Harry said. "And she wouldn't take the cloak."

"Take me to her," Hermione insisted. "There's still an hour."

"I don't think so," Harry said uncomfortably.

"Fine," Hermione said, spinning toward the door, and then Harry grabbed her arm.

"You can't go," he said. "Seriously, Hermione."

" _Stupef -_ "

" _Expelliarmus,_ " Harry said, and her wand flew away.

"Let me go," Hermione said, and slapped his face. His grip was hard, painful.

"Stop. I am willing to knock you out, Hermione."

"You can't do this," she said, and tried to wrench her arm away. He locked her arms behind her back. "You're hurting me."

"This is Lew's decision, Hermione. She has the ring. She will come back."

"No," Hermione said. His chest and arms were hard against her back. "Harry, after everything I've done for you. I am not going to forgive you for this. I will hate you forever. He can't have her."

"You have to trust her, Hermione."

"She's irrational. You heard what she said. She won't fight him. She will let him do anything. You don't know what he will do to her."

"She knows, and she's doing it anyway. And I do know."

"She's so fragile. You have no idea, Harry. She can't face him. She can't be alone right now."

"Sometimes we have to let the people we love make their own choices." His grip loosened a little.

"I can't." She twisted away from him and dove for her wand. The last thing she heard was his Stunning Hex.


	24. Chapter 24

_The tree was rowan, young. Her hands were shaking as she prepared it, stripping out the bark and then cutting deep into its heart. Sap seeped out, staining her fingers. The first time she did this, she cut too deep and killed the tree. She was careful not to do so this time. Just deep enough._

_Finally she set aside her wand and picked up the bundle. It was cold, a bad sign. But the tree was cold, too. She unwrapped it and carefully placed it into the opening in the tree. The sap looked just like the blood, and she imagined that they were the same, the blood and the sap, melding together. "_ Finite incantatem _," she murmured, tapping the baby with her wand. The spell washed over the infant._

"Pulsatio _," she said, and then, "_ Spiritum _." The baby shuddered, took a short, gasping breath. Such efforts would have been useless without the tree. "Come on," she prayed. "Live." She sat down. The baby kicked its legs, and stopped breathing. "_ Spiritum _," she repeated, and the baby breathed one more time._

_The tree shuddered. The leaves were just budding, barely there. It was the right time of year. The energy of new life, of the impending spring, was bright in the tree, but it had not expended that energy in its leaves yet. And the infant could still grasp at life, with the raw magic of the untrained, the accidental magic of a wizard on the precipice, teetering between life and death. It wasn't too late._

_She could almost see it happen, like the last time she had tried this. The baby's movement stilled, but the tree stretched out its limbs as it awoke. "Hello," she said, and then, "I'm sorry. It's the only way. But you will have a life, a greater life than ours."_

_She left the body in the tree. When its leaves unfurled, they were sickly and small, damaged. But it lived through the spring and summer. The wound in its trunk slowly closed. It produced no fruit that year, but it lived. And around it, the rowan grove flourished. She could almost hear the trees whispering to each other, emboldened by sentience, sharing the wisdom of the old with the fresh vigor of the young. She harvested the rest of the berries and sold them as salves and jellies. When asked why the fruit carried such power, she said only that the grove was powerful in a way she didn't understand._

_And the tree lived through the winter, too, better than her last effort. She used the money from the harvest to move near it, so that she could walk there. She told the tree stories. She explained to it why she had done what she did, and the tree accepted her words. The next year it was stronger. She was sitting under the tree when he found them._

_He didn't care what she had done. He only cared about the spirit in the tree. She tried to tell him everything, more than he asked for, needing to explain, but he did not hear the explanation. He only heard the name of the baby's mother, and then he killed her. But the explanation was still there. Words that needed to be spoken. A story of good intentions but incomprehensible consequences. The story was not a ghost, but it lingered, waiting._

* * *

Hermione woke with a sickness, clammy, on a cot in the Hogwarts ward. Lew was sitting on the next cot, eyes haunted.

Hermione sat up, dizzy. "You're here. Lew. You beat him?"

Lew took a few steps to the cot and sat next to Hermione, shaking her head. "Too risky to fight. We have to find our son first."

"No." Hermione grasped her hands, and Lew twitched away from the contact. "Lew, how could you do this?"

"I had no choice."

"We don't even know if he's alive. I would never have asked you to do that. You're worth too much." Hermione put her hands on Lew's face, and Lew pulled away from her hands, cold and distant.

"It bought us time, didn't it? Risk-free."

"It wasn't worth it."

"Please don't say that. I will be fine."

"You're not fine," Hermione said. "You won't even let me touch you."

"I will be fine," Lew repeated, and she looked away, out the window. "It's not that bad."

Hermione blew out a breath. Lew had not escaped him. Not even in waking. _But you're mine_ , she thought. She blocked out the images. "I am going to kill him. What happened? He let you go?"

Lew nodded. "I have one more day of freedom. He wants to see me come back to him."

"I have a clue. I don't know if it's real." And she finally told Lew her dream.

"Where?" Lew asked.

"I don't know."

"Rowan." Lew's eyes were red. "Is it true?"

"I - I think it is," Hermione said. She tried to touch Lew again, but Lew pulled away and she let her go. They stared at each other for a few long moments.

Hermione's hands clenched into fists. She picked up her wand from the bedside table. "There is a rowan tree on the grounds. Let's go."

Lew nodded and stood, trailing Hermione past her friends, clustered outside the ward, and out onto the grounds. When they reached the tree, Hermione said, "Here. Cast it."

"Cast what?"

" _Lingua arborus_."

"You should."

Hermione said, "Please, Lew."

Lew looked at her almost sullenly. "He will know you."

Hermione took Lew's wand out of her pocket and put it into her hand. Lew turned to the tree.

It was just a foot taller than Lew, short, its branches wide. Hermione had never been an enthusiastic herbalist, but the memory of the dream was still strong in her mind and she saw the familiar featherlike leaves, small still, but delicate and layered like so many wings. And the flowers, in tight bunches, white and speckled. Hermione reached out her hand and brushed the closest bunch. Her fingers came away dusted with pollen.

"It's beautiful," Lew said.

"Yes," Hermione agreed. She itched for her wand, but she waited.

Finally, Lew raised her hand and cast the spell. She reached to the tree and put her fingers lightly on the leaves, closing her eyes.

After one long moment, she shuddered and stepped forward, her hands grasping for the tree, catching on the branches. Hermione followed her, letting her hand fall on Lew's hip, putting her other hand on Lew's shoulder. Lew's hand moved down, stroking into the tree's trunk, and then she fell to her knees.

Hermione stayed standing, waiting for Lew. It was a few long minutes before Lew said, her eyes still closed, "You were right. He's here."

"What is he saying?"

Lew touched her mind. It was images, thoughts partially formed, wordless. 'I don't understand,' Hermione whispered.

'I don't, either,' Lew said. 'Don't understand. Just listen.'

It was a million trees, and just one, intertwined in spirit. The trees lived together and spoke together in a confused torrent, and the mind that united them was calm, touching each tree, bringing a sense of purpose that was otherwise unachievable. This mind was not young, but as old as the oldest tree. He knew every memory of that tree, and every sensation of the smallest sapling as well.

'Where are you?' Hermione asked her son.

The answer was a single word. _Everywhere._

'Which tree are you in?'

The consciousness ran from her, and Hermione followed him to the oldest tree. He asked that tree where he was, and the tree said, 'Here.'

'Your body,' Hermione pressed.

The consciousness ran up the trunk of the tree, to each vibrant, bursting flower petal, and down, deep into the roots, straining against the soil, breaking the hard chunks into granules, both fast and infinitely slow. _Here._

Hermione focused on the image of the human in the bole of the tree. Her baby. 'Where is your body?'

The consciousness fluttered, and Lew said, 'Don't do this now.'

'You can't go back to Jacob,' Hermione answered.

'You can't hurt him like this now,' Lew said, and Hermione listened to the fluttering. He _was_ upset, confused. The imposition of flesh was jarring to him. The idea of the body, trapped inside the trunk of the tree, was almost hateful.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, and Lew opened her eyes and looked at Hermione.

"Stop pushing him," she said, and Hermione found her connection severed.

Hermione growled, " _Lingua arborus_." She touched the trunk of the tree.

Lew dove towards her, pulling her hand away, and cushioning the fall. Hermione found herself on the muddy ground with Lew above her, the connection with the rowan grove tenuous and fading. "Stop it, Hermione."

"Why is everyone tackling me?" Hermione pushed Lew's shoulder, and Lew stood back up. She helped Hermione up, and then she led her away from the tree. Hermione said, "We have to find him. Obviously Jacob meant that he would destroy the tree that he - that he transferred to. Right? So we have to find it."

"You meet your son for the first time, and the first thing you ask him is, 'Where's your dead body?' He's happy."

"He's _gone,_ Lew. That's not human."

"Holy shit, Hermione. Don't say that. Just because it isn't what you imagined -"

Hermione walked away from Lew. "That's not it," she said finally. "I didn't mean that."

"Go away," Lew said behind her. "Just go. Let me talk to him."

So Hermione did. She walked back to the castle and told the group what they had discovered. They took out a detailed map of Britain that spanned four tables and projected the locations of each rowan tree. Hermione labeled them each with a number. They would recreate the map later. This one would have to be sacrificed. By the time she was finished, Lew touched her mind again.

'He's asking where his - his guardian is.'

'Dead.' Hermione felt dead, too.

'I asked him what tree she touched to talk with him, and he knows where that one is.'

"Oh," Hermione said. 'That was a better idea.'

'I know. But he doesn't have a good way of telling us. Space looks different to him.'

'Can you ask him if a particular tree is closer or farther away? We have a map of all the rowan trees in Britain.'

'Probably,' Lew said. 'Broomsticks?'

'We should start with trees that are very far apart. Let's go south. Floo, I think.'

'You want to come?'

'Of course.'

"You're talking to Lew, aren't you?" Harry said from behind her.

She turned to look at him, and then moved away.

"I had to do it, Hermione," he said, following her.

"Fine," she said. "I don't care. It doesn't matter. Lew figured out a way to track down the right tree. Once we find it, we can figure out if Jacob cursed it, and then we can kill him."

"Kill?"

"You know that's what we have to do."

"You're sounding kind of…"

"Angry? Do you think I'm angry, Harry?" There was no anger in her voice. She couldn't actually tell if she was angry at all. Or maybe all she felt was anger. It was hollow.

He backed down. "You'll let me help you, right?"

"Yes."

Lew let Hermione touch the second tree, part of a large grove in the sparsely populated foothills of Wales. She tried to understand the child, but he was confused by her until Lew entered the conversation. Lew explained that they were somewhere else, now, and asked him if they were closer to the place the woman contacted him at.

"Closer," Lew said finally, translating. Hermione hated and loved Lew for understanding what she could not.

"What's wrong with me?" she asked Lew.

"I think you're - too upset. You're focused on Jacob. You're talking too much, instead of listening."

Hermione thought about this. "How do you know?"

"What, that you're focused on Jacob? You've said, 'I'm going to kill him' about every five minutes for the last two hours."

"I can't believe that you're not thinking about Jacob."

Lew actually smiled at her. "There is nothing further from my mind."

"Will you touch me now?"

Lew looked up at the tree. "With our son watching?"

"He can't see." Hermione put her hand on Lew's hip. "Kiss me, please."

So Lew kissed her, softly, hesitantly. Her touch no longer soothed, or excited. It was something Hermione needed, but it did not transform her. "We are going to beat him," Hermione said.

"Stop talking about Jacob," Lew said, and stepped away.

"I feel like - he has taken you from me." With the words spoken, they seemed more real. Hermione wondered how she could have lost Lew so quickly and completely. But she hadn't ever had Lew, had she? Hermione had never imagined that having Lew was so fundamental, but _not_ having her was so jarring that she must have always.

Lew looked at her, and the coldness came back into her eyes. "He will never have me. What he's done to my body means nothing."

"You said he was the most significant relationship in your life."

Lew frowned. "Why would I say that?"

"During the trial." Hermione had dwelt on the statement for too long to forget it now.

Lew shook her head. "Hermione, there is no comparison between our relationships. You saw that memory. He was always -" she sighed, turned away. "Why do we have to talk about this right now?"

"I feel like I've lost you. In just a few hours. You don't love me any more."

Lew turned around, opened her mouth, and then paused. And Hermione was crying, finally, again, impossibly. Lew said, "You're the only good person who ever loved me. You - you remember? Do you remember when I said I loved you the first time?" Hermione shook her head. "You're the only thing holding me on the ground."

"You knew you loved me then?"

"Nobody's ever touched me like that."

"You've had lovers," Hermione said. But she remembered how she had touched Lew that night. Every inch of Lew had been syrup, and Hermione had trembled in her wanting. It was before she had known what there was to want. If she had known, she would have just taken Lew. There was not enough time in a lifetime to not have Lew.

"Nobody that ever mattered," Lew said softly. Finally she reached out and grasped Hermione's hand. "Please don't let what just happened to me come between us. You are making it matter, and that is so far from what I want." She took a deep breath. "I got through it by telling myself that he is - by thinking, 'You are so small, Jacob. You can never own me.' And it's true. But you're making it not true. You're giving him power over me. Please stop."

Hermione suddenly realized that this was not the Lew she had expected back from Jacob. She had expected the broken person that was Lew at night, the Lew that shuddered in pain and horror, the Lew that Hermione could comfort. This wasn't that person. Lew was physically absent, emotionally distant, but she was not afraid, and she wasn't broken. So it wasn't Jacob that Lew was fighting against, all this time. Hermione had not understood at all.

"You're not afraid of him," she said finally.

"No. I have always been better than him. That's what he can't stand."

"What were you afraid of?"

"Losing our baby again," Lew said. "And losing myself again, for something so small as Jacob. I know why you told me to leave, Hermione. It took a long time to figure out what I did wrong, but I did. I put Jacob before you. I won't make that mistake again."

"Oh," Hermione said. The revelation was so unexpected that she couldn't muster a real response. _Later_ , she told herself. She would have time to think about this later. When Jacob was dealt with. When they found the tree, and whatever was left of her baby.

"Come on. We're so close."

Hermione nodded. Her face felt frozen. She followed Lew on the broomstick to the closest grove of rowan trees, recalled perfectly from the map in Hogwarts, in the middle of a forest. 'The cloak,' Lew reminded her, and Hermione put it on. 'Stay up there.'

Lew touched one of the trees while Hermione hovered above her. 'Closer,' Lew said, and got on her broom. Hermione followed her, and they repeated.

'Farther,' Lew said. 'North or south?'

'South,' Hermione said. 'Or maybe - it was a big grove. There aren't many around here. Do you think it was the last one?'

'Let's try one more first."

The next grove was also farther away, so they went back to the second one. Lew walked from tree to tree, and Hermione followed from above.

'Skip trees, Lew. It's taking too long.'

'I am,' Lew said.

She stepped to the next tree, and then Hermione saw it. The tree was small, and bore only a few clusters of flowers. It had a wound in its trunk, near the base. Hermione was too far away to see detail. 'There, Lew.' She sent the image of the tree, and Lew walked to it.

"OK. _Finite incantatem_." She cast the spell a few times, on the leaves, the flowers, the roots, until there was no possibility that any of Jacob's enchantments were still active. Hermione spared a brief worry that Lew had broken the connection between the tree and the baby, but Lew did not seem to share the hesitation.

And then there was another voice, low, growling. "Lucy Cunningham. So you did come back. A little earlier than I expected."

"Jacob," Lew said. She dropped her wand. "Don't do anything."

"Wow," he chuckled. Hermione searched desperately for him. It sounded like he was exactly below her. She just had one shot. "You really care about this kid, don't you? What about our first child?" Hermione almost fell off her broomstick.

"You're delusional, Jacob."

"Why didn't you care about them? All of the souls I watched you kill. And I couldn't stop it. Don't you think you deserve this, after all?"

There was Lew. And there, finally, was Jacob. Hermione had expected to see the boy from the Pensieve, but this was not him. His face was scarred, twisted. She drifted downward, hoping that her sweaty hands would retain control of the always-precarious broomstick.

"I don't," Lew said. "Just give it up, Jacob. I found him."

"How does it feel? Your child, the only one you care about, is dead. After all that. And you are still in my power."

Lew was smiling. "You couldn't be more wrong."

" _Stupefy,_ " Hermione said. She had excellent aim.

He collapsed, and Lew leapt onto him, disarming him. "Why would you just stun him? Kill him, Hermione."

"I don't know how," Hermione said, drifting in the boughs of the tree, still under the Invisibility Cloak. "I've never killed anyone."

"I'm going to kill him, she says," Lew grumbled. "We can't stop him from using Imperius, even without his wand. He has to die. Do I have to kill him?"

"I suppose," Hermione said. "I don't know. Can't we just keep him unconscious?"

"Definitely not." Lew cast the disenchantment spell on Jacob a few times, and then slung him over her shoulder. She got onto her broomstick, and Hermione followed her a few hundred feet away, out of the grove. She landed under a fir tree and took out her knife. Hermione pulled off the Cloak. Her hands were shaking. Jacob's face was even more gruesome up close.

Lew raised an eyebrow at Hermione, and Hermione turned away. " _Hominem revelio,_ " Lew muttered. There was the sound of clothing ripping. "Damn it. Die. _Hominem revelio._ All right. Let's go."

Hermione turned around hesitantly. His throat was cut cleanly, and there were long slashes through his clothes, on the insides of his legs and on his arms.

"Are you sure he's dead?"

"I'm hoping," Lew said grimly. Her hands and forearms were red.

" _Aguamenti,_ " Hermione said, and let Lew wash her hands. "Right." She took a deep breath. " _Incendio_ ," she said, and watched the body burn.

"Gross," Lew said, covering her face with her arm.

"What? Oh, the smell." It wasn't that bad. Hermione was used to the smell of burning bodies. " _Conmemoro_ ," she cast, giving the fir tree the senses to watch the body. "Let's go." Lew got on her broomstick. "I think I will walk. I will be there in just a minute."

Lew laughed at her and flew. Hermione found her back at the tree, her eyes closed, standing with her hand on a lower branch.

Hermione walked to the tree and fell to her knees. "Hey," she said. She breathed out slowly. She couldn't look into the wound. The image of the baby inside, motionless, melded blood and sap, was too strong. She didn't know whether she feared or hoped that he was still there, nursed by the tree. Maybe Hermione's presence would give him new life. The tree could have his infancy, if only Hermione could have the rest of his life.

Finally she looked. There was nothing she wanted more than to take the infant in her dream out of the tree, and hold him. It had only been fifteen months. But there was nothing in the wound but bark and wood and the lingering stain of sap on the bark of the tree.

"Damn it," Hermione said, gritting her teeth.

"You wanted his body to be here." Lew released the tree and turned into Hermione.

"There's nothing."

"But he is here. You're wrong, Hermione. He knows you."

"He doesn't know me," Hermione said bitterly. Her breath was shuddering in the silence of the grove.

"He will. You have to tell him, first. Tell him how much you wanted him. Tell him how you looked for him."

"There's nothing. Fuck. I can't." Hermione released Lew and walked away.

"He's still a person. He still needs us. He's been telling me how he misses his guardian." Lew followed her, put her arms around Hermione's shoulders and held her from behind.

"You mean his mother."

"She never said he was hers," Lew corrected her. "He's ours, Hermione."

"This isn't right. This isn't the way it's supposed to happen." Of course the Tracing wouldn't work. The baby was gone.

"He's their king, Hermione. That's something much greater than what he would have been, even if he lived. He was too small. His body was damaged. With this, he can literally be everywhere. What if his body was here, and you could take him away from the tree? He would never walk. He probably wouldn't talk, either. He'd be trapped in that body."

Hermione nodded, but knowing that it was true didn't stop the tears. "I want my baby, Lew."

Lew was crying, too. "I'm sorry."

"OK. I will tell him," Hermione went back to the tree. She sat at its base and cast the spell. Lew left them alone, pacing away. Hermione could hear her on the phone, but she couldn't distinguish the words.

She told the baby who she was, and who he was. She told him how she had loved him, and how she had thought he was lost. He was excited, and then confused. She didn't show him his body again. She didn't tell him her disappointment. She told him instead that she was his new guardian. He asked who Lew was, and Hermione told him that she was his guardian, too.

He showed her the house that the woman had lived in. So he did have eyes. Had he seen her crying when she found him at last? 'I will live there,' she told him, not fully believing it. 'What did you do with her?'

He showed her stories, pictures from the world, from books. He had understood these things.

'What else do you see?'

He fluttered with hesitation, and then she saw Lew tackle Hermione at the base of the first tree. He saw them stand and pace away, gesturing, and then Hermione walk away entirely. _Where?_

'To find you,' Hermione said.

 _Lew_ , he said. _Lew Lew Lew_.

'I feel the same way,' Hermione said, and then she called, "Lew? Are you finished? Come here."

And then Hermione saw Jacob kill Doris. _Where?_ he asked.

'She's gone now. We are here.'

 _Where?_ He plunged deep into the earth, and then flashed through backyards, pavement, porches, people, a million faces. But no Doris.

'Sometimes people leave forever. What did she call you?'

 _Michael_.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my beta Sashimae for helping to make this possible, and for tolerating my endless emails on ethics in literature, the role of agency and rape in the story, and generally feminism in the Harry Potter book series. If you have an opinion on these topics, please feel free to leave me a comment, etc, and I will expound.
> 
> I want it to be clear that this (the previous chapter) is not an ending that I was happy about. I've spent about a week trying to make the ending not happen, but at the end of it I realized that the story would not be finished if it had any other ending. So I guess what I mean is that this is not the story I wanted to tell.
> 
> Luckily, the story continues ever onward! This is the satisfying ending. Next story in the series will not be, at all. Consider yourself warned.

 

Harry Potter counted the Lews. The first was the Lew he knew, cold, focused, strange. The Lew of the trial. This Lew he could easily imagine performing ritual sacrifices, brutally killing a security guard, intimidating a suite of Aurors into silence. This Lew didn't care what Harry or anyone else thought about her, and it showed.

The second was an entirely different person. He remembered the first time he saw that Lew. They had been paired with their mentors in the meadow at Grasia, co-casting a levitation spell on pebbles suspended in water in a glass jar. Lew had picked up the jar and spun it in her hand, resetting it, the movement athletic and careless. She said something inaudible to Hermione, grinning, and Hermione had given her a slight, sweet smile in return, her eyes flickering up from Lew's hands to her face. He always remembered that moment, but he had not understood what he saw until Ginny told him. This was the Lew that Hermione loved. That was what he had seen in Hermione's eyes, in that casual moment of intimacy. Finding out that Hermione loved Lew had explained so much.

And then there was another Lew, the harsh, passionate Lew he had seen during the trial footage, the same Lew that chain smoked in the Weasley Wheezes, defensive, bitter. This was Hermione's Lew, too, exposed by proximity to Hermione only. This was the Lew that had so cruelly used her, and she made sense to Harry. That was the real Lew, not the playful woman that Hermione loved, nor the cold one that faced the world, but the tempest that lay beneath them both.

He expected to find the first Lew, the cold stranger, when he went with her to plan her battle. But that was not the Lew that he found. It was yet a different Lew, solemn but not withdrawn, not cold, cruel, or even passionate. She was focused completely, but her focus was not on Jacob. It was on Hermione, and the baby she had lost. She asked him about Hermione, and he had answered with a combination of lies and truth. He would not give her the satisfaction of knowing how their relationship had shattered Hermione. He responded with his hatred, and she had accepted it unflinchingly. And when he challenged her, she had just looked at him and said in that voice, "I do love her."

It was the only answer that would have been acceptable, in the end. Harry did not believe it, but if Lew needed so badly to sacrifice herself to save Hermione's baby, Harry didn't intend to stop her. Her motivations were beyond him, but he agreed that any other course would have been riskier - for everyone but Lew herself. That was why, when she asked him to keep Hermione away when she confronted Jacob, he did so.

The cold Lew returned from Jacob, and Harry had to fight himself to allow her to wake Hermione alone. She had passed Jacob's abuse to Hermione once before, and it seemed foolish to expect that she would not do it again. If only she hadn't returned at all. But just as Harry had told Hermione to do, he had to allow Hermione to make her own choices.

He worried that it had been a mistake on his part, because not twenty minutes after they left the castle, Hermione returned without Lew. She was trembling, fluctuating wildly between frantic anxiety and an uncharacteristic emptiness. And then Lew returned, a light in her eye, and they had all paused in front of the Floo chimney. Harry watched Lew hand Hermione her sweater, slip the broomstick over Hermione's back, and then put her hands on Hermione's shoulders. Hermione's hands fell on Lew's chest, gripping her jacket, a practiced movement. Lew said, "OK," and Hermione repeated the word back to her, her breathing slowed, and finally she stopped shaking.

Hermione must not see the Lews that Harry saw, or she would not have found her feet in Lew's arms like that. Maybe Hermione's Lew was the one Harry had finally spoken to, in the marsh of Lew's childhood. Maybe the real Lew wasn't the angry one, but the thoughtful. It made the facades seem less deceptive to think of Lew in that way.

What had Hermione seen last night when Lew said she wouldn't fight Jacob? Harry had seen a statue of a woman, her lips barely moving at all, stony. But maybe Hermione had only seen her lover, the woman in the clearing with eyes dancing, the flushed Lew that kissed Hermione outside the Leaky Cauldron, the solemn Lew that asked Harry to be forgiven. Maybe the Lew Harry had finally met in Louisiana was the one Hermione had always seen, a whole person.

Harry had wanted to follow them through the Floo chimney, but Hermione dismissed the offer, afraid of Jacob, or perhaps afraid of the idea that anyone else should find her son. She had only wanted Lew with her. Whether he liked Lew or not, Hermione would not let her go.

This was what Harry thought, when they all arrived in the rowan grove, Ron, Bill, Neville, and Luna. Lew dropped from the tree like a predator, and then, for the first time in Harry's memory, Lew smiled at someone that was not Hermione. Was Hermione's image of Lew the person who stood before them now? Or, more accurately, was that the image Lew had used to remake herself, in their year apart? Because even if Hermione couldn't see the change, Harry finally accepted that there was one. He saw the silver of age in Lew's hair, and realized that if the past year had destroyed Hermione, it had done something far more profound to Lew. She was not destroyed. And she didn't need to find herself in Hermione's eyes any more. She had said she wanted to be the person Hermione deserved. And now, finally, maybe she was.

* * *

When it was fully dark, Hermione finally coaxed Lew into the cottage. Hermione had changed the bed sheets and cleared most of the witch's belongings out already, and the single room felt sparse and empty. With Lew there, Hermione was suddenly reminded of the cabin in Grasia.

It hadn't been clear whether Lew would actually ever leave the tree at all. When Harry, Ginny, and the rest arrived at the grove, they found Lew perched in the tree's branches. For a moment Hermione's fear had returned. How much of the past year had Lew spent as the raven? But she leapt from the tree and reached the ground in her human form. She smiled at them all, and then introduced them each in turn.

Michael had never spoken with anyone but Doris before today, but the human contact only seemed to delight him. _You're different_ , he kept saying. _And you're different. Everyone is different._ The idea was new. He didn't seem to notice that he was actually the most different of them all.

Lew looked around the cottage, dazed. "So this is where she lived."

"He loved her," Hermione said. "Didn't he?" She drew Lew to the table. Harry had brought food from the Hogwarts lunch, but Lew's eyes skipped over it.

Hermione sat down at the other chair and watched Lew as she considered her hands. "It's good that he had her. Can you imagine if he hadn't?" Lew changed the subject abruptly. "There is another spirit in the rowans, Hermione."

"What? Another soul?"

"I don't know, I can't tell. But he told me about them. They're far away, I think." She tensed, almost standing.

"We have plenty of time with him," Hermione said gently. "Will you eat?"

"Yeah," Lew said. "Isn't it amazing?"

Hermione smiled at her. "It's amazing."

Lew really looked at her for the first time. "You're still sad," she said.

"I will recover. I'm glad you're happy."

A shadow came over Lew's face. "You said we would talk after. About us. Is that - are we having that conversation right now?"

"Oh," Hermione said. "We can. Do you want to?"

"You tell me," Lew said. She scrunched up her nose and looked away.

"I want to live here, with you. Would - can I?"

Lew was smiling again. "Me and Michael?"

"Yes," Hermione said. Should it have been strange that Lew so easily and completely took ownership of the spirit in the grove?

"Yes." Lew reached out and took Hermione's hand. "Do you want to? Really?"

"I think so," Hermione said. The question had occurred to her, too. "I can barely think. It might be easier to talk in the morning." Hermione wondered if she should ask about Jacob, but it was obvious that Lew was still not thinking about him. What was there left to say? Lew was emancipated. Hermione had never seen her so happy.

"Yeah," Lew said, but she didn't look tired. Her eyes were bright. She took a bite of a biscuit and then stood up. "Are we sleeping in that bed together?"

"If you want to, Lew."

"Yes," Lew said. She drew Hermione up with her and pressed their cheeks together. "Now?"

"Aren't you hungry?"

"No," Lew said. She stripped off her robe and pulled a change of clothes out of her bag, and then she hesitated. Hermione walked to the far wall and stood facing it as Lew changed. Lew had never been self-conscious before, not while they were sharing the cabin in Grasia nor at any time after that.

Finally Lew said, "OK." Hermione turned to see her climbing into the bed, biscuit in hand. Hermione changed, too, and Lew watched her with eyes still bright.

It was warm under the blanket, and Lew allowed her to nestle between her and the wall. Lew's body was warmest of all, perfect, gratifying. Lew pushed her hair away from her face and stroked it, and her neck, and then her back. Hermione couldn't decide whether it was happiness, sadness, or want that made her breath shallow.

"You're so beautiful," Lew told her.

Hermione moved up so that she could study Lew's face. "You're beautiful," she told Lew. "I always wondered how you could be so beautiful. I've never seen anyone who looked like you."

Lew smirked. "That's how I got you. Always staring."

"Do I still look at you like that?"

"When you're not murdering me with your eyes," Lew said.

"Hm," Hermione said. "Can I kiss you?"

Lew took a deep breath and nodded. Hermione let Lew dictate the kiss, and it was soft and light, the gentlest of touches. Hermione shook from it anyway, and her arm tensed around Lew. But she didn't pull her closer. _Don't take anything_ , Hermione thought to herself. A thousand ways her body could beg, but she wouldn't do any of them. Lew didn't want sex tonight. She couldn't.

She took a deep breath and tried to stop panting. Lew watched her face thoughtfully, and Hermione felt herself melt into the gaze, another kind of rapture.

"Why didn't you kiss me that first night, Lew?" she asked finally. If only it had happened like that. She had been so ready to give herself, but Lew had not taken her.

Lew shook her head. "What night?"

"You said you loved me. I laid with you. Why didn't you just kiss me? Why did you wait for so long?"

"After the nightmare?"

"Yes. I wanted you. You had to have felt -" she stopped. What had she felt?

"But I hurt you, Hermione," Lew said, as if it was obvious. "How could you want me?"

"I wanted you. I wanted you before I knew you. After, I wanted you more." Her body shook under the force of her conviction, of her drive to tell Lew. "You didn't feel it?"

"I felt it," Lew said, and this time her voice was gruff. "I… you were too good, too… you are still too good for me."

"All I want is you."

Lew kissed Hermione again, the kiss just as light as before. Only Hermione's body flared to the touch; Lew was still and peaceful. She suppressed a frustrated moan. It was unfair of Lew to kiss her. It was unfair of her body to revolt. Lew put her hand around Hermione's back and slid up, underneath her shirt.

Hermione broke the kiss and closed her eyes. "You're so soft," Lew whispered. "Can I just touch your body?"

"Of course, Lew," Hermione said, and Lew kissed her face lightly and kept stroking her. The touch wasn't sexual. There was no tension in Lew, only shining happiness.

Finally Lew's hands stilled, and Hermione opened her eyes to find Lew watching her, a slight smile on her face. "Do you want something?" Lew said after a long pause.

Hermione sighed in exasperation and turned away from her, studying the wall. Lew settled her arm around her stomach, pressing her body against Hermione's back. The touch made Hermione's body flare again, but she didn't arch into it. "I want _you_ , Lew," she whispered. "I don't want to take anything from you."

Lew leaned over her and kissed her cheek. "You won't take anything from me. Do you want to move your body?"

She pinched Hermione's nipple through her shirt and Hermione muffled a moan. "No. Yes. I just -"

"You can want me, Hermione."

"I don't want to hurt you," Hermione whispered. "And you're not - you don't want me right now."

"You can have my fingers." Lew kissed her neck softly. "You have me."

"Only if you want to."

Lew's response was to push down Hermione's pants, taking her underwear with them. She stroked around Hermione's hip and down into her wetness, pressing her body against Hermione's back, and Hermione shuddered and put her hands flat against the wall. She bit her lip and held her body still, and then Lew used her other hand to slip a finger inside. "You can move," Lew said, and Hermione's belly burned.

When the fog cleared, Lew's hands were moving, gentle, steady torture. "I won't take anything from you, Lew," she moaned, and Lew bit her shoulder from behind her. "I love you."

"Do you want more?" Lew usually thrust against her, but this time she was as still as Hermione. Only her fingers moved. When Hermione was silent, she pulled out the single finger and replaced it with more, so much that the bigness strained at Hermione's entrance. Hermione's body opened to it, and then Lew was inside again, and Lew's hips were finally moving, slow, pulsing, in time with her hand. "Move. Grind down. You're giving yourself to me. Please." Hermione moved, pressed her body against Lew's, arched her back into her hand. Lew's arm locked down on her hip, pulling her into Lew's stomach.

"You're all I want," Hermione said. "I want you to be happy. I want - this. I want you inside me." _I want your baby._ She almost said the words, but it was too soon. "You're perfect. My body is yours." Hermione let herself rock into Lew's hand.

"Give yourself to me," Lew breathed. Hermione's hand formed a fist against the wall, grasping for something that wasn't there. She pushed back against Lew, and then she peaked, the sensations inside and outside merging together in a blinding torrent. Lew started pulling out, and Hermione pushed down on her hand. "No, stay."

Lew nodded and kissed her shoulder through her shirt. Finally Hermione's body calmed, and then she was shaking, her arms crossed tight across her chest, wracked with tearless emotion. "Hey, what's wrong?" Lew asked alertly. "Shhh." She put her hand under one of Hermione's, and Hermione gripped onto her. "Please don't cry. Talk to me."

"Pull out for a second, " Hermione said, and then she turned into Lew and buried her face in Lew's breasts, clinging tightly to her. "Inside." Lew hesitantly slipped two fingers inside her. Hermione's body locked around Lew's, and Lew tensed a little, but she kissed Hermione's head and didn't pull away. Hermione remembered Lew's fingers the second time, in the room at the Leaky Cauldron, and wondered how this could feel the same. There was no fresh betrayal, but something was broken, and keeping Lew inside her was the only way that Hermione could continue. She let her lips graze Lew's collarbone, and then her hips rolled into Lew, taking control, dictating the contact. Lew followed the movement, Hermione released her tight grip, and _this_ was the Lew Hermione wanted, sensitive, aware, on fire with need.

The orgasm was close. "Stop," Hermione gasped. "I can't -"

Lew stilled her fingers, looking alarmed.

"I need to keep fucking you," Hermione said. "Hold on." Her hips rocked into Lew's hand, taking her again, this time with the certainty of Lew's submission. "OK, yes," and Lew followed the movement of her hips, short and fast. "Fuck. Yes. Dammit." The second orgasm was as hard as the first, but Hermione had Lew under her hands and it was infinitely more satisfying. "Stay," she said when she finished. Lew felt good, sweet and solid. Her fingers were the only logical complement to Hermione's body, the one correct answer Hermione had ever been given.

Lew's nightmare woke Hermione that night, and she lay on top of Lew and held her until the shaking stopped. This time it was Lew that clung to Hermione, and the sweetness of her need was so great that it erased the last of Hermione's fears. It wouldn't be the last time that Lew's demons overcame her, but maybe it could be the last time that Lew thought she was alone. Hermione held Lew to her with fingers light and hoped.

* * *

Lew was too gentle, or so it seemed to Bill. It felt like years since he had seen her, though it had been only a few months. She had never been a neglectful friend, and in these last months of Fleur's pregnancy he had been perhaps more needy than he should. He imagined she knew the feeling, though she had never been as indulgent.

Victoire was sleeping. Fleur would not have left her in any other state. As it was, Fleur was in the kitchen with Hermione, who had fled the living room as if from a phantom. But the baby was not fearful to Lew. She had accepted Bill's daughter eagerly, delightfully. And she studied the baby's face as if it was a puzzle that she could unlock.

"How is… Michael?" Bill tasted the name, unfamiliar to him. An angel's name. What was the mythos? Michael was an archangel, the one who defeated Satan in his last battle. Had that battle come and gone, unknown to the wizards? Bill hesitated to ask Lew. It was a weighty legacy to bear. Was Michael only one year older than the baby that Lew held now? And was the enemy that Michael battled somehow greater than Satan himself, a being embodied by Lew's fever dreams, mightier than even the man that Lew had finally faced?

"He is… fine," Lew said.

Bill hesitated, put his hand on Victoire's soft head. "You're missing the child, still," he offered.

"Not me," Lew said. Her crystal eyes met his. "Michael is everything I wanted."

"You're with Hermione," Bill observed.

"It seems like."

"How does it feel?" _To achieve all you've ever hoped._ Bill had, and it was more hollow than he had imagined.

But Lew's face cleared, and despite the years she looked as young as the first time he saw her. Her words were empty, but the look remained, the guileless enthusiasm of a girl in love. _Yes._


End file.
